He is a ghost
of the man
he once was.
A parasitic host,
being fed
by his symbiotic mind,
he floats
through the streets,
aching inside to find
the peace
he once
left behind.
He is a ghost.
Dead but walking,
A waking nightmare,
a creepy dream.
He splits
his self in two,
one mind searching
for his own truth,
the other looking
for something to use,
to shut out the sounds.
The self-abuse.
Crooked back,
huddled stance,
gnarled like a tree branch,
under chemical trance.
He watches his eyelids in wonder,
life slips by but he doesn't ponder why,
only focused on the light show,
produced for only his eyes.
Through his toothless grin
and spaced-out mind
he smiles at
the chemical high.
This phantom
of the streets.
Just a body
under torn sheets,
Cardboard hideaway,
a castaway
beside pizza box
litter strewn pathways.
He is a ghost,
a shiver
on a warm night,
a finger of ice
down the spine.
Thoughts run
like flocking sheep
of the mind.
Watching the colours blend
behind his eyes,
as the lights start
to slowly fizzle out.
Thanks for reading
Endless Nightmares out now
300 pages of horror themed poetic storytelling
Please take a look at my previous collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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