The Ghost Inside My Chest

I am the ghost inside my chest, Unseen, unheard, yet never at rest. I drift through halls of memory, Where joy once lived but fled from me. My breath like frost, my blood runs cold, A whisper trapped in hands grown old. I wear regret like funeral lace, And see the world through sorrow’s face. The mirror knows what I conceal— A heart too numb, a pain too real. Each beat, a knock from deep within, A past that scratches at my skin. I haunt my name, I haunt my days, A soul lost in time’s cruel haze. They think I smile, but cannot see The grave I built inside of me. But still I ache, though silence wins, To feel the sun beneath my sins. For ghosts can hope—though dim, suppressed— To one day find peace at last.