The desire to write is at my fingertips
my arms ache to paint
show the world what I hold in

my voice croaks to speak out
the words I swallow back

the "I miss you" that will never be heard correctly
the "I love you" that is gone
a empty grave
one must believes exist
just to live with hope

would it be too much
to ask to stand next to me once more
grant me the strength and love
I know is gone

but then again
I still love a ghost
the ghost who still lives