Here lies your poet
Breathing and awake,
But without any signs of life

The deep hours of the night
Are a perfect simulation of oblivion
And the uncomfortable foam mattress
A suitable casket lining for the dead inside

I am a ghost to those who love living
Barely a breath in their lungs
Barely a word in their sentences
But merely a fraction of what I wish to be

Please make me part of it
With open arms and accepting hearts
Why do all of you resent my warmth?
Why make me feel unwelcome?

For now I stay dead, the way you all want me
Because this is all I can do
Break me no more
Because there is nothing of me left