You don't know what it is to walk though a city broken hearted.
Your steps feel meaningless and hollow; you still walk.
There still are things to do and places to be, but your steps...seem to become robotic.
There's no heart behind them.
You just following them.
Because anything's is better than staying still.
Still, the world world seems so bis and you feel so small against it all.
Live gave you an armor. A shield. A sword.
As long as I knew I was loved nothing really mattered.
And when things dent really matter, oddly enough, that's when you end up conquering them.
Walking broke hearted through a city is an odd thing.
The faces you see seem menacing.
The city's allures seem so mundane and pedestrian.
You feel apart. Disconnected. Your mind, your heart, your being, is elsewhere.
So you live as a ghost.
A ghost is imperceptible.
It never gets far.
Not a way I would suggest living for too long.
YOU ARE READING
Ghost Poetry
PoetryA book of poems and short stories. A conscious crisis about heartbreak, madness, carnal sin, and the promise of liberation.
