At some point I became a ghost
In my own house,
Just a shadow dancing past closed doors,
hurt feelings swelling under old scars,
like a bursting seem, holding back broken dreams.
Picking the wounds off and leaving
The skeletons in the closet
Where they belong.
I would love to feel, but it’s been too long.
Old friends fall in the backdrop silently
Somehow they have become the walls.
You’re the only one who not hiding
The only friend to reach out and feel me.
The only thing encouraging breathing,
I guess most people don’t speak to ghosts
I guess most people don't see me.