Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
unholy ghost Aug 27
sometimes the crows
talk to me
and I imagine
you sent them
from your little
corner of the world

I pretend they
say "I miss you"

because truth be told
I miss you
too.
unholy ghost Aug 25
finally found your portrait
(dorian)
hidden behind your veneer
and your charm
and it is far uglier
than I could have
ever imagined

and all at once
letting you go was the easiest thing
I've ever done.
unholy ghost Aug 20
the thirst
the hunger
the echoes
of thousands of voices
screaming for relief
for patience
for salvation
home
permanence
the secret
wishes of the
mangled hearts
the wrecked spirits
the ones who have
given up
who have made friends
with the shadows
in the corner
made art of the
dandelions in the
sidewalks and the
****** fingerprints
on the window panes
unholy ghost Aug 4
some days the warrior
some days the worrier
and i'm never more
unsavable
than the days your
absence hits the hardest -
when everything smells
like you, and i hear your voice
the clearest and the
soundtrack in my head
is the alternating verses of you
telling me you love me
and telling me to use a sharper
knife next time -

these are the days
i find myself the
most numb,
trembling, aching for sleep,
for an escape from the pain
that comes with missing you
so deeply
even after all this time.
unholy ghost Jul 14
i'm tired of the triage.
i'm tired of bandaging
the wounds of those around me,
i'm tired of the shrapnel and
the pain and the feeling of
helplessness, watching
them burn and bruise
and bleed while i can
only offer bandaids
and well wishes. i'm tired
of sincere apologies that
don't mend the losses
and i'm tired of the tears
that never dry and the
need and the ache and the
void platitudes will never fill.
unholy ghost Jul 6
dripping
from the wrist
ink
blood

i tried
i tried
to write
to you

i swear
i tried -

i'm sorry
will never
be enough

goodbye
will never
close the
door

the blades
never sever
the ache

the pen
never
carves anything
but your
name
unholy ghost Jun 25
the way depression
grabs fistfuls of my hair,
the bruises she leaves
on my skin, the cuts
and the bleeding on
the floor.
the way she holds my face
in her hands after
I've cleaned up the mess,
tells me what a good little
girl I am. how she
puts me to bed sometimes,
knowing one day I may
never get back up.
Next page