The ghost I’ve become,
Is filled with desperation,
A unique sadness.
The darkness is an overwhelming presence,
That lingers in my chest,
Whispering in between the empty spaces,
Of my ribs.
It slowly, seeps through my skin,
Into my veins,
Traveling through my blood stream,
And like a bullet,
It goes straight into my brain.
Like most of my emotions,
I, myself am a Prisoner,
Trapped and confined in a box,
With four walls and no windows,
No room to breathe.
I sit, bound in a straight jacket,
Waiting for a chance to,
Heal from the grief,
The broken heart,
The confusion of loss.
I am broken, torn apart,
And put back together,
All wrong.
I am less of a person now, than I have ever been.