Sometimes instead of pale faces all I can see are ghosts
Hunched over asking not to feed them
Crawling steadily toward oblivion
Someone asked me if I wanted to die
I said If that means living without having to lie, if it means laying with my brother and sister in the dirt
Because I feel as though I'd be better suited as a tree, or something that won't get hurt
Something that can't hear the pain in a voice that screams, something that's more sturdy, that seems to always know what it means
When my mom left me I didn't do anything but look out a window expecting her to return
I guess I do the same thing for you now, like waiting for a mailman or a storm you'd seen predicted on your television set
That terrible feeling a child gets waiting for his mac and cheese to boil, chomping at the bit
You can't really define a feeling like so, you can only capture for yourself and hope to god he'll let it go
Release you like the sins you've committed, if they're ever released
As if there's anything more than cells in a delicate system that nature spun out
Who could listen to all the voices in pain before they go to bed and eat, asking to be granted with health or to feel less hunger underneath
All your thoughts are actually ghosts, like you dissolving at they run their course, not touching anything thats real, anything with substance that you can feel
And in that blankness don't ask to be heard, don't waste a word