Ghosts

Eating through my flesh- my skin is rotting off my bones. Advanced stage of decay- the smell of death it sets the tone. The blood in me sits stale- worms they crawl throughout my corpse. The maggots they infest me- but the story just gets worse. I'm dead amongst the living- just a ghost stuck from the past. And no matter how I plead- attention never seems to last. I carve what's left of my cold flesh- but have no more blood to bleed. Attention? No, desire- that is what I truly need. But that does not exist for me- no one thinks twice of the dead. Why chase after a ghost- when there are lively ones instead? How can one who's soul has passed- crave death in larger magnitude? Not stuck in hell, but purgatory- watching life move on right past you. All I craved, all I did want- was to be held tight and valued. But I'll never be wanted- just left to rot in other's shadows.