When ghosts return

 

It's not that I don't care,

but I buried you,

I mourned.

Grieved too many hours.

Bereaved I sought escape.

Sunk too deep.

when the sun was asleep.

I died a bit myself that day.

And every day since,

a little more and more

of my soul has been

etched away.

 

Those sleepless nights,

the dreams;

turned to terrors.

The internal fights,

through all weathers.

Severed any strands left

of my already

frayed heartstrings.

Barely alive, buried myself

in the grave of my mind.

So, when ghosts return,

it feels a little confined.

 

When ghosts return,

memories also swirl.

Those foggy stained

ill scented feint reminders

of every knife stabbed directly

into my back.

So, it's not that I lack,

care, it's just that to find it

will require a map.

 

Every tear I cried

has now crumbled

my worn features to dust,

and done way worse

to my levels of trust.

I now have very

little left to give

I struggle each day 

just to live,

So, forgive me

if when those ghosts return,

it reminds me of where I'll end up

if I become too passive.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle