lightning dresses our ghosts,
our darkened graves,
these emaciated bones.

the drowning of our being,
belongs to the ones who put us there.

but fever love, we were told, belonged to us.

ivory sky blinds are searching eyes,
our hands, trying to find the rhythm of wind,
of winding rainbows,

our lurking toes,
the tremble of earth dissolving into our hands.
these unmarked stones,
our hands tracing false names into the stone.

they spoke of us,
whispered in hoarse cries;
they rumored us into these reapers,

these reapers that don't breathe anymore,
just tiptoe onto each open grave,
dropping wilted flowers into the void space left there.

these reapers that are just as dead as everyone else.

lightning mumbles us farewell,
sings its screams into our bleeding ears,
and we just lay there,
staring up, into the impassable realm of death,
aching to become a star,

to become something we never got the chance to be.




lightning dresses our ghosts,
our darkened graves,
these emaciated bones.

the drowning of our being,
belongs to the ones who put us there.

but fever love, we were told, belonged to us.

ivory sky blinds are searching eyes,
our hands, trying to find the rhythm of wind,
of winding rainbows,

our lurking toes,
the tremble of earth dissolving into our hands.
these unmarked stones,
our hands tracing false names into the stone.

they spoke of us,
whispered in hoarse cries;
they rumored us into these reapers,

these reapers that don't breathe anymore,
just tiptoe onto each open grave,
dropping wilted flowers into the void space left there.

these reapers that are just as dead as everyone else.

lightning mumbles us farewell,
sings its screams into our bleeding ears,
and we just lay there,
staring up, into the impassable realm of death,
aching to become a star,

to become something we never got the chance to be.

So he had a ghostwriter?

What’s next? A freaking ghostliver?

While you’re at it, add to that a ghosteater.

A ghostsleeper.

A ghostthinker.

Ghostlover.

Ghostdreamer.

Ghosteverything.

Just­ bare ghosts.

I believe in ghosts.

The haunting memories of nightmares past.
The spooky stories buried inside.
The life I thought I left behind.
The demons I thought I left in the past.

The scary torment of which I thought I was free.
The sins I thought were forgiven.
The bodies, deep; that I hoped were forgotten.
The creatures I thought were dead to me.

I believe in ghosts.

I see them taking form.
Circling, over a prey they thought was lost.
Rejoicing, that their moment has come.
I believe in ghosts.

I’m all alone in the dark.
A dark and creepy night.
Armed with nothing but the moon’s light.
I believe in ghosts.

When the sun has gone to sleep
And ghosts have had their time to creep
Imps and goblins awaken to
Do the things that monsters do

it's alright, child.
settle by the fire with your cup of tea, cocoon yourself in your favorite blanket and let the ghosts speak.
it'll be alright, darling.
don't be frightened by the things you cannot see.
be frightened of the things your marble eyes will never unsee.

- katrina ******

The kettle is whistling
That same tune
I hear it everywhere
The voices will
start whispering
        Soon
I know it’s only
the ghost of you

I’m drowning in two feet of water.
I’d be safe if only I could stand,
But my arms and legs are too tired.
This is not what I had planned.

My eyes are closed shut, blind from the salt.
The tide is rising, waves are crashing over me.
They beat me down and pull me in;
The sounds of silence call me to the sea.

Deeper they draw me, further I fall
Caught in the current, far from the shore.
My cries, like myself, are drowned by the sea,
I’m splashing, thrashing until I can do so no more.

Submerged below the cool surface
I’m weightless... I’m free...
I wait... floating there, fearless,
For the sweet darkness to wash over me...

But then a flitter of thought flashes forthwith,
An image —the spark of hope set within—
The future —a beauty with eyes like the sea—
I can’t let this end before it even begins.

My burning lungs remind me I’m still living
When all this time I thought I was dying.
My muscles ache, death but a breath away
I’ve no energy to fight and yet I start trying.

I muster what little strength that I can
And reach ‘til my hands and feet find the sand.
I open my eyes and push with all my might
To come face to face with the most magnificent sight.

Your eyes were gentle, deep as the sea,
You were the spark that set me free.
“Don’t be afraid,” you said, smile gleaming,
“Those were shadows of ghosts, of which you were dreaming.”

1/3/19

I crawl out of the wreckage
after talking to myself
about the troubles I am having
with my debt and bills to pay.

I dig myself out
from envisioning  
my headaches taking hold
and threatening to blow my eyeballs out.

(And then I start to realize...)

I am stuck in the middle of nowhere
in a shop run by ghosts
and they won’t let me go free.

I stop envisioning
the woman who stopped talking to me
and I realize that I can’t go anywhere wherever she is.

Then I touch the counter
and I realize how dusty it is
but I don’t see any dust on my fingers

(And then I start to contemplate…)

What if I am not living?
What if I am wasting time
on the things making me dead on the inside?

I wander around this dead auto shop
and see the wrecked metal shell that was my car
and the wrecked driver that was me.

I only see it as a tomb
for a dead shell of a guy
too busy thinking about worrying and too busy thinking about dying
than paying attention to the road.