A ghost.
Not a real one.
Just of a person.
A person he used to be.
Replicas they seem.
Same hair, same eyes, same smile.
But they cease to exist at the same time.
I never see the real him anymore.
I can't remember what he was like,
I don't recognize him.
Outside may be the same,
But inside, nothing is the same.
Deceiving and captivating, he may look
But he's a hollow person,
With only a trace,
of a real person.
A person, I used to know.
An empty soul,
But a full ghost,
To me
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary." - Khalil Gibran
