Ghost
I stare at the ceiling,
Lost in soliloquies,
Engulfing myself in that feeling.
The clock ticks,
the breath stops,
my heart beats slow down,
another smothering desperation.
They say “You’re made of memories”
then what would I be made of?
a nightmarish scream or,
to be the sole soul on this path.
The ghost of my laugh lingers around
reminding me that I’m just a shell
of who I used to be.
If I am truly made of memories,
then I’d be made of nothing.
Nothingness defines me and,
solitude redefines my soul.
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