Those ghosts in my head
spring forth words that I dread.
Forcefully feeding back lines
that I never have said.
Telling me my thoughts.
but distorting their truth,
they gather my nerves
and sever the roots.
I can't help but listen.
The words ring just as loudly
as snow glistens
under beaming lighting.
It can be frightening,
when they shout nightly,
fierce as lightning
through my clouded thoughts,
surprising me.
inciting my body
to have the urge to flee.
My ghosts, I can't see,
but they are always
around audibly.
In a dark mystic book
they are writing my story,
before I've even lived the days
they're etching out for me.
Their auditory moans
sing internally,
I groan at the sound
as it tears me apart
like I’m a piece of meat.
I keep my ghosts contained
in a chained box, deep in my brain,
but their sounds attain sentience
and walk right on through
the empty corridors of my head.
I'm sentenced to rewrite
the lines they say,
every night and every day.
Whilst in my bed I lay,
they scream and shout,
ruining the ambience, causing doubt.
Destroying any sentiments
of sleep I once had.
Sleep has run away,
scared.
Into the moonlight
it fled. So now it's just me
and the noise in my head.
Thanks for reading
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continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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