I am not angry, I’m just done.
A smile persists where fractures creep.
This hollow skin feels battles won,
a counterfeit of wounds too deep.
A smile persists where fractures creep,
layers worn thin under unseen weight.
A counterfeit of wounds too deep,
isolation whispers: quiet is fate.
Layers worn thin under unseen weight,
to carry love where none remains.
Isolation whispers: quiet is fate,
a ghost reborn from vanished names.
To carry love where none remains,
each promise falters, each vow confined.
A ghost reborn from vanished names,
eyes read truth; trust left behind.
Each promise falters, each vow confined.
This hollow skin feels battles won.
Eyes read truth; trust left behind.
I am not angry, I’m just done.
Big ghosts have small ghosts
in their dreams to haunt ‘em,
Small ghosts have smaller ghosts
and so-on ad infinitum
keys rest in their rows
each one shaped by years of use
ink ghosts linger still
waiting for the next soft strike
to wake the stories they keep
That only I can see
I faced this lonely road alone
I walked this blind street
With a faultless mischief
My fears withheld within
A stranger to myself
So I embraced my shadow
And prayed for quietness
in my head!
You thought you owned the night,
But the night owns you.
A shadow dancing in a borrowed light,
A ghost in rewound time,
A ghost in fading blue.
Rock and roll is dead from the start,
And you're all dead with it.
You've never contained anything more than this emptiness.
Rock and roll is dead from the start,
And you're all dead with it.
Your eyes are blinded by passion and conceit.
The leather jackets, the ripped-up jeans,
A costume party for a false dream.
You can’t resurrect what never lived,
A tombstone anthem, no love to give.
Rock and roll is inherently dead,
And you all are dead with it.
You’re dancing on graves, but the music won’t rise.
Only motley ribbons and smoke under neon skies.
The earth shakes, mimicking my weary bones,
And the ground is wet with tears left behind.
The cage of whiteness, locked tightly inside,
Upholds the heavy weight of every day's design.
Secrets and memories are ghosts we keep,
Bound tightly within the walls of the chest—
Forgiven, forgotten, or just cast aside,
The architecture of a heart aching for rest.
My steps falter on the unpaved ground,
Stumbling under the weight of a calcified spine.
Yet all this physical aching scarcely compares
To the quiet, structural cage of skeletal frame—
That has, until today,
Only answered to the marrow of your name.
I sat alone,
In the darkness.
A slight moan,
And then stillness.
Events were replaying,
In my brain.
The past was repeating,
Along with the pain.
Then, It appeared,
Surrounded by gloom.
It smiled and neared,
Forecasting doom.
The Regret was accompanied,
By Despair and Depression.
All my worries were freed,
My soul tasted liberation.
My true friends had come,
In the form of ghosts.
I had no other chum,
Just me and my ghosts.
I remember when Summer sounded like ambient electronica , when my day dreams would blend with the blur of lights buzzing around me
That joyous noise in my ears, the melodic pounding of feet running uphill on the hot pavement toward the end of a dimming day
Its a story of youth that spins violently toward its last dance
white flowers and incense
salt and sweat
air that sticks to the inside of your ribs, when you laugh so hard you can't breathe
We would wear the sun on our skin warming us into those beautiful nights when we stayed out till dawn
We knew the street lights better than the stars for navigation
those roads that would lead us to wherever we want to go
there are no ghosts here
they've all gone back to the earth
as you one day will
He's back
like he never left
with scary undertones
in tow
The story goes
They're chasing ghosts
& a known host
of other things
Who knows
what they're really
after in reality
They know Casper
brings a mentality
that borders on
unfriendly
Never mind the surface
it's what's
underneath the matter
that counts
The numbers continue
to mount because
of the unseemly
things that are about
This is a stout reminder
not to take anything
in life for granted
On this planet
the thinly constructed
veil hides more
than they surveil
With a heavy head
I say frail appearances
shouldn't be taken lightly
Granted they talk
a good game
but can they play
them all the same?
So many strange things
casually happening
but this is no
coincidence
They coincide with
certain incidents while they
claim they're on
the fence
His cryptic brilliance
is in question
but I swear that's
nothing new
It's true his
suggestions grew wings
& flew the coop with
an air of exposing truth
For those that know
this is the proof
that they try but cannot
hide
He resides somewhere
between what is seen
& not seen with
normal eyes
they flutter freely, their intent focused and formidable
ghosts who chased off ghouls and goblins years ago
their Halloween presence is absolutely beyond deniable
their pure whiteness reminds me of polar bears and snow
They do not appear to everyone, just the ones who believe
Naysayers have never noticed them at all, though there are thirty
They are tricksters who have October shenanigans up a sleeve
tricks that are humorous, child- friendly, not anything dirty
Are they here? My cousin asks, for she cannot see them at all
This makes me feel a little superior, as I do every fall.
I nod my head and one gives me a happy joyful wink.
There is one right now, my dear, crawling into your sink.
the congregation of ghosts showed up again last night
I had a strong feeling I might decipher a face
But alas, they remain mysterious
Ancestors? My friends who have gone on before?
My cousin who was murdered?
Would I finally figure out who took her life?
I was thrilled at how close I came to almost recognizing one of them
But the entity pulled back at the last second and I woke up.
I closed my eyes again, trying to recapture the dream
Not merely elusive; it had disappeared entirely.
I have to think I will someday solve this puzzle.
I wonder if I have to join that world first?
The last of us
meander in rolling hills
by the misty stream
tinkling round slate rocks.
A doll size cottage
hewn of ancient limestone
silhouetted in rainbow flares
creeks and rumbles forlorn.
Withered lace murmurs languid
framed by dark embrasures.
We enter the void
over a parquet threshold
to greet mirrored visions
in ever rewinding portals
that unveil the stories
of our dreams unlived.
Ghosts:
imagination
unfettered and
recognized as
every appearance~~
The world is built on bent-back spines,
Of those we draw outside our lines.
We treat them as a hollow space,
A blur of limb, a void of face.
But should they tire and step away,
The glided roof would turn to clay.
How strange to build a house so tall,
On folks we claim aren't there at all.
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