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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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?”