Dear Ghost of Mine,
Please don't go yet. Without you, I cannot roam the library's halls. Without the twinkling lights signalling your voice talking, books and stories don't call out to me. Hands of authors and artists and poets, living and dead, do not reach out.
In your presence, my past doesn't chase me anymore. My actions don't sting and my mind runs crazy and free. It's a high that you bring with yourself. We are one and together, you nor I can exist separately.
When the Body goes, you rise. At the same time, I wander. Searching for meaning and retribution for all that I did, and for all I did not. You wander in the halls of memories past. But I burn in it.
Indeed, it is hard to stay dead, with everyone running away from you in fear. Your desire for the living world is justified. It can be crushing to know that you are a remnant of one's memory. Trust me, staying alive is harder. There is no kindness in living. Death, on the contrary, is merciful.
Without a Ghost of the Body, I have no story and no background. All that is left of me is an abysmal voice. Trapped and aflame with guilt and shame. So please, stay with me until I join you in death? Promise, I should be gone from here very soon. We die quicker these days.
Love,
Your lonely Soul
YOU ARE READING
Stitched Words
PoetryLife's been very hard and strange lately. Just a random dump collection of stuff that is mostly written free handedly. Can't think of anything more about what this can be. But hopefully something good comes out of this. All pics are not mine, credi...
