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.


untitled 1.

My name is Emily

It must mean “garbage”

in some language not my own

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