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I see her beautiful shape
laying still and quiet in our bed,
sleeping form curled around the pillow
on which I left my scent.
But I am a self made Ghost
and I saw her cry all day.
I am a shadow and feel nothing
and I left her because I loved her.
So I died,
by my own hands,
maybe soon,
she will understand.
I never deserved her, she deserved more,
so I showed myself to the leaving door.
Inside the darkness had begun to call,
step over the edge and start to fall.
Bereft of life, she found my shell,
screamed at me from the depths of Hell.
Tears streamed in gushing torrent
expressing a grief I did not warrant.
So in the ether I pen this note,
words can no longer leave my throat.
I left my love to set her free,
I couldn't keep her bound to me.
And whilst she gazes at my picture on the shelf,
may the Universe bless her not to blame herself.
© Pagan Paul (18/08/17)
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A Note From The Ghost of a Successful Suicide
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