Smoke

The ghosts of my former self frolic in the distance.
I see them, I’m the only one that does,
But they don’t see me.
They pass in and out,
shaking me from within.
Not knowing they’re tearing me apart;
they carry on with afterlife.
That part of me has died.
Coffin is closed, please don’t open.
Let the nails hold.

Advertisements

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑