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.
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