Is that me in the mirror?
Or is it you?
I can't really tell anymore. The ghost of you is stuck to me, and you didn't choose to be stuck with me. It's because I can't let go.
I don't even know why I was holding on in the first place.
The ghost of you I think is now apart of me, but it's not really you, is it?
The ghost of you is me. All the lies and regrets, and all the unfulfilled dreams, whispered before falling asleep.
And now,
I.
Can't.
Dream.
A/N: Not sure where this is going, it's not finished but this piece of the poem came to mind. Enjoy, R&R :)
