My perception has clouded by the crack of my soul.
I never learned how to patch the gap,
so I let the darkness stay in,
visit my soul.
Then the fog came in without hesitation.
That’s when I began to write stories —
stories only I could read,
carved into my soul.
I hear your voice every time I turn the pages,
and I smell your cologne lingering in the words I wrote.
Now it’s written deep in your soul,
waiting for you to learn how to read,
so you can see what you lost.
I am sitting with your shadow;
he knows how to read
but lives on an old dusty road.
Hope you can sleep with my ghost.
She knows every tear I shed
to keep you warm.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 12:51 PM UTC
My perception has clouded by the crack of my soul.
I never learned how to patch the gap,
so I let the darkness stay in,
visit my soul.
Then the fog came in without hesitation.
That’s when I began to write stories —
stories only I could read,
carved into my soul.
I hear your voice every time I turn the pages,
and I smell your cologne lingering in the words I wrote.
Now it’s written deep in your soul,
waiting for you to learn how to read,
so you can see what you lost.
I am sitting with your shadow;
he knows how to read
but lives on an old dusty road.
Hope you can sleep with my ghost.
She knows every tear I shed
to keep you warm.
-How long can we grieve a loss?
