I keep seeing people in my house
like dreams or vapour,
a photocopy on worn out paper.
They walk through my rooms
silently. I don’t think they are violent,
maybe just lonely like me.
They don’t frighten,
I don’t have an urge to flee,
but honestly. I’d rather they didn’t
sneak in when I’m having a wee.
I can be going about my daily routine,
the same monotonous grind I repeat
whilst inside I feel achingly...
Nothing.
But they are there always behind the scenes
with their glowing contraptions,
waltzing through
like an overworked daydream.
My mind is constantly
sat idling by a stream
Whilst I tirelessly go room to room
trying not to scream.
They are there all hours,
faces lit by moving light boxes,
unknown shadows creep
from the strange light fixtures.
My candlelight flickers.
I feel something fester within.
Its lonely again. They don’t speak,
yet their lips are still moving.
I watch them sometimes,
though they don’t notice me.
It’s weird,
like I am just lifelessly
floating away in a daze.
Whilst I see them
with some new
technical masterpiece,
my skin fades. Translucent.
Then a flood washes over me.
I remember why they don’t see me.
I’ve been dead for centuries,
wandering these rooms,
so lonely
for what feels like eternity.
Thanks for reading
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continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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