I feel your presence shift past me.

To you, I am simply a memory.
A memory that has been tarnished throughout time.
An enemy perhaps.

To me, you are a ghost.
Stuck in time, without the knowledge of this collective reality.
Stuck in a cycle of decline and reassign.

You stand in limbo, observing your own mistakes.
But in your created reality, there are no such mistakes...

A ghost broken down by their choice of travel,
But blames the damage on the road itself.

You can only twist a story so far before the pages tear and split.

A broken back
Just will not do
You’ll take too long
And burn the stew.

On note of burning
From where’re, the scars
That, stomachs churning,
Make up the bars

O’ the prison that binds you?
A cast iron shackle
Society’s scorn
And a hollowing cackle.

Empties your soul
Of the love it once held;
For the people around you
By whom you’re impelled.

The dregs of a rag
On which a blind man once sat,
You are the nothing
No more than a rat.

I hope you don’t depress
And cry in the broth
Or bleed on your robes
For we might need the cloth.

A penny well saved
Is a penny well spent
And yet all I can say is
“You’d best pay your rent!”

If a benevolent master
Is all that you want
Then I would suggest
Not being a runt.

What man could desire you?
What motive to care?
For most not your money purse
For that is laid bare.

A whispering wisp
Once told you to wait.
A malevolent spirit
You’ve taken the bait.