Shake up your bones
And pluck your veins
In hopes for a rhythm,
or a melody.
The body is your medium
Between the mind of the soul
And the crushing reality
None of us can comprehend the same.
You can still find inspiration in rotting corpses-
Keep your tombstones to yourself.
The only things constant in life are change and death.
Invisible languages that only the mad can hear
Make them prophets in their own eyes,
And insane in ours.
My mother
Spoke to Lucifer.
She was dead before her body gave
Her eyes were shallow, empty
There is nothing
Like talking
To the soulless body
of someone
Who you gave you life.
I am haunted by the deceased.
They do not come in physical form,
They do not come in my dreams.
They do not come to bring me harm,
They do not come to bring me peace.
They come in spurts when my fingers
Set sail over the pages, or the screen,
They come into my words when I can't hear myself think.
I do not write for me anymore,
I write for ghosts.