On what use to be colorful.  
On what use to be sweet.
Oh how the setting sun bids us goodnight on the street..

The summer with you.
The fall away from you.
Come time the winter.
And the spring to see us true.

Its time to sing.
Its time to dance.
Its time to ride into the night.
Under the old moonlight.

I can hear your voices in the dark.
I can hear all of you talk.
I pass on by unseen.
As a ghost or phantom or perhaps a dream.

I wonder then is it all of you whom are
alive or is it simply us living in a dream.

Streaming
Endlessly
the days
Between now
And eternity
In search
Of you,
my dear.

No search engine
Optimization
will find you
for me,
'cept the one
Bold enough to
break down fractured seams
Of a disparate  reality

exposing
the trickery  
That is death.

Keep showing me
Your playful games
Keep showing me
Your light

Let it sink in,
The hurt
And pain.
The hole widening,
In the sunken chest.

Manipulating hands,
Plotting to no avail
Ways, to mend.
Two decades,
Plus a lifetime of mistakes.

Controlling, hedonistic pleasure.
Opposing selfless, selfish.

The firestorm blazing,
Engulfing and raging.
Burn the bridges.
Point-blank, BOOM!

Phantom, blood born,
Dead to me.

Suddenly I could taste her breath in the air, almost as if I had just kissed her.
But I hadn't, I was alone in my bed.

I'm haunted, by some sort of phantom pain.

Your whiskey lips
are haunting me
with words of
what if
and what could be.

The dream of us may be more damaging I fear,
than where life has lead us to my dear.
I steer clear from your gaze for all the ways
they make me feel like old days;

scared, insecure, miserable,
happy.

"I just want one kiss",
a trip into bliss that you'll miss.
But your phantom lips have left me aching
from the past that we have been making.
And that pain has got me breaking.
Daydreaming a life from which I'm waking.

Back to reality,
a life cast in duality.
The world stripped of sensuality but revisited at night.
A happiness best taken in sips, and although I've woken, my heart rips
because I can still
feel
your
lips.

Just know
       that wherever our worlds revolve to,
yours was part
             of the constellations guiding me home.
Like the stars,
       your light was a phantom of something
  I never actually knew,
                though it penetrated my heart so.

She is a ghost
In her own home
Drifting from
Room to room,
A phantom
Rattling chains
In the early
Morning gloom

She wrings her hands
And curves her spine
And spends
The night alone
Watching time
As it passes by
In a world she's seen
Yet never known.

I heard the phantom’s whisper. But can the dead really speak to the living? I numbed at the thought momentarily and then laughed off the possibility because science told me so. The whisper of the phantom came and went for a second time. So I questioned the occurrence once more.  *Can the dead really speak to the dead?

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I turn to them and tell them
That I really do not know

Well I'll wake up in the morning
Feeling like I've had no rest
And the fear that lies within me
Will rise and constrict my chest
But I'll stand up and be counted
I'll work hard, I'll try my best
And if you're lucky then I might even get dressed.

It's my day at home today
Some people say I work too much
But if they want me to socialise
Why don't they keep in touch?

Still I'll sit at home and surf the web
And text them from my room
And I'll look at pictures on the net
Of people on the moon
Sing **** the ashcloud with Miss Palmer
She'll be Mrs Gaiman soon
And if you're lucky then I might just pen a tune.

It's my day at home today
And people ask me why I'm here
I say that's because I have no plans
I play my life by ear

But it's doing me OK so far
I'm living with it well
Even if sometimes it can feel like
A flaming pit of hell
Still I'm learning and I'm trying
Poking out beneath my shell
And if you're lucky and you're good then I won't tell.

It's my day at home today
Sometimes people ask me why
I shut myself in yet seem so strong
And never, ever cry

And I tell them that I'm happy
And that's why I don't look sad
And I try my best to help them out
When they are feeling bad
But they don't know what I cannot say
That I've been driven mad
And if they're lucky then they will not understand.

It's my day at home today
And some people ask me why
I prefer to sit behind a screen
And watch the world go by

I say the phantom of the opera
Composed in a secret place
For he never wished the light of day
To fall upon his face
Even if I'm sat behind a pane
I'm running my own race
And if you're lucky I might let you keep the pace.

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I'll turn to them and tell them
That it all depends on you.

You try to not look
Into their eyes
And get lost in their desperate kisses

Cause all that they are
Is a phantom of
What could've been.