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You ask if I’m a ghost
I don’t speak
Why
It’s because I’m captivated by your voice
I listen
You in a crowded room
How you turn from sweet into fumes

You ask if I’m a ghost
I don’t move
Why
It’s because I’m captivated by your eyes
I watch
You playing with them
Your boys, your friends

You ask if I’m a ghost
Maybe I am
I ghost myself to hang out with you
Watching over you
My zeal is all dead
My body all blue
Perched in your room
Ghosted by you
Invisibility is a cliché wish,
But a night spent staring at the ceiling
Or the wall
With the feeling of existence
Washed to the minimum
By consumption,
Creates a similar feeling
Of invisibility to the senses.

I wish not for invisibility,
I wish to be your ghost
For exclusively your eyes
To witness me
As a shooting star
Scratches the sky
Leaving no trail
For those who missed it.
I hope I don’t miss
The trail of the gentle scratch
You leave in your last touch,
Letting this fleeting moment pass
Without recognition until lost.

If you spend forever in a single moment,
It’s not just a moment anymore,
For if you lose sight of me,
I'll erode away in the river
That you'll toss me in.
Emergence to accept defeat
That I let such a moment
Dissipate to become a lifetime
Of regret is the pressure point
In my mind regarding you.
Losing you now would be unforgivable,
Don’t let me go.
45 lines, 207 days left.
Julia Celine May 23
Live with me away from here
Where the poppies wilt to nothing
I promise I caught these little secrets
in days when the roses caught me blushing

Cascading light on fallen clarity
Left for a past that'd gone indifferent
Isn't it something, we found infinity
And learned how little that it meant
Ahmad Attr May 20
O city of ancient history,
Your people scare me
Because they are real
Their characteristic proud strut
They don’t walk, the stomp the earth

A cadaver like me doesn’t belong here
Of course that applies to every place I go
But something about the liveliness here
Grabs me by my brittle shoulders,
It shakes me so my eyes could be opened

O city of ancient history,
Don’t be beguiled by my elastic skin
Flowing blood, breaths, and my beating chest
I am dead
I just don’t know since when
I don’t have a grave, no epitaph
I am a ghost, that writes memories
I put it in front of the world
So I am not forgotten

O city of ancient history
I usually forget about my quietus
But when my train or my bus passes through this place
It scares me, agitates me
I realize I’m walking amongst the living
These lucky mortals
At least they die only once
Cut the limbs
off a boundary

of trees,
and the police come running.

He was more supported--
there was evidence--

twisted branches
on the ground--

video of it
in action.

It took three days
to go from comfort

to sorrow--
she who freed me

also made me
a ghost.

My i
diminished--

blood on all
my four walls.

I'm still
the only one

who sees red.
His wife doesn't seem to care.

She can always deny
everything

and stick her head
in another book.
Andrew Rueter May 14
I'm haunted by a ghost
who won't text back
I need it the most
but it only gives black
this ghost from a heart attack
leads me down a disheartened track
of perilous cracks
so I can't relax.

Your Danny Phantom
threw our new tandem
off like Drew Stanton
giving me a true tantrum
tramping to the netherworld
to find a bed of pearls
instead of twirls
in dead end whirls.

I stare at people talking
in my mind I'm throwing ****
sounds like the gun cocking
right before the trigger flick
killing me quick
in a ghost's grip
instilling gross and sick
voices telling me to quit.

I want to go to the astral world
to be in your presence
I want to be your astro girl
then extinguish your essence
to get my revenge
after getting incensed
from the haunting intense
of a ghost with malicious intent.

Your apparition isn't an aberration
plenty have seen the line of demarcation
between relationship adjacent
and my next replacement
so I hide in my basement
people wonder where my face went
a ghost set it to its blank placement
to cover up the rank grave scent.

The spirits of the undead
notice that I'm unfed
repeating that I'm *****
until I've done bled
they cackle with triumph
after I've run
for someone
to see the sun.

So go chill on your ghost ship
with your ghost clique
whose locust lips
give you focused hips
just stop haunting me
I view recovery dauntingly
because for a while I've got to see
every person as wild ghosts mocking me.
kayzamo Apr 28
do you ever feel like...
like you're ethereal, ghostly?
a fantasy existing in your own mind.
maybe the reason they don't see you is
because you're not real.


do you ever feel like...
like you walk alone in company?
flitting through dimensions,
enough in their world to exist
but wholly invisible within yours.


do you

do you ever wish

to be seen?
that someone would just
******* notice you for once?
I gladly welcome critiques. Thank you!
Kylie Apr 26
ghosts love to lurk in places
where darkness seems not to fade;
a ghost has dwell upon my heart
haunting the crevices of every broken piece
a ghost horrible enough of the past
bears only graying memories
and I wish for somebody to come
cleanse it,
exorcise the lurker,
banish it from my heart,
for it has been making my void
darker as it was.
Anne Apr 22
You were already dead
by the time
I was planted in your soil.
Your story is one told to me
through grainy photographs.
Echoed whispers of
peripheral port cities.
Somewhere lovingly untouchable.
My home was once alive.

My stomach lurches
while picturing these
hollow streets,
once filled with laughter.
The harbour
bursting with smiles.
Each neighbour,
a family or friend,
usually both.

How I love this island!
The salted summer's breeze,
hand woven scarlet autumns.
Wild flowers dancing
atop cliff-sides,
free for us
to admire and absorb.
Absorb we did.

I swear my bones
are made of sea-glass.
How could they be
made of anything less?

In their stories,
you are a fairyland.
A cosmically unified olden wood,
dipped in Scotch
and swaddled in wool.

Yet your branches rot,
thinner and damper each year.
Soon the whispers
will be stale air.
No one will be left
to tell tales
of your beautiful youth.

Everything dies.
How I once wished to see
you in your prime.
Even in your postmortem existence,
you've given me
mud to stick my toes into.

I see you
melting into the sea.
I smell your flesh
being swallowed
by bottom feeders.
You are a wonder to me
all the same.
I can't imagine growing up somewhere more beautiful.
Estel Apr 20
If only I wasn’t ignored
Is it because you get bored?
I guess I will never be enough
Even when I try
I can hardly get by

My doubt cripples me
Some days I can’t stand near you
Even if I wanted to
Because I fear the world would be better
If I were invisible
Like a ghost
My thoughts repeating
“Don’t leave a trace”
"You're a disgrace"
“Oh but remember that one mistake?”
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