If I return a ghost when I die,
I'd haunt the thin lines,
Where I used to reside.
I'd be stuffed between walls,
Smushed into the cracks,
Lost in shadows,
Like a maze in the mist.
If you asked where my home is...
I don't know if I could answer.
The door to my home was my entrance hell and my exit to heaven.
How else could I describe this?
Who built this curl world?
Do I fall in with the masses?
Or stray from the path?
Be shunned with the sinners.
Each on broken paths.
I've become a shadow of what I once thought I was.
So what if I dive in?
Pretend.
Try and just fit in.
Trapped in a dark grin.
-BM
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Poet - My Bleeding Heart
PoetryMy bleeding heart - part two of the collection of A late night poet. Here lies the stories of a bleeding heart through heart break and loss. The story and journey continues in poetry.
