The Ghost of Me

Strange visions passing before my eyes

Odd lines between fantasy and responsibility

I drag between sunup and sundown

I see no reason to keep fucking dragging

On and on and on

Waiting for miracles that don’t happen

Waiting for answers that don’t come

I lag behind on obligations

I forget what made me ME to begin with

I cut the skin, just to watch it bleed

But it makes such a fucking mess

I forgot what a mess it makes

I guess it’s been a while

I try to type but the words don’t come

My soul feels dry

Dry like a bone in the desert sun

Thirsty for water that’s nowhere in sight.

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4 thoughts on “The Ghost of Me

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