there's a ghost in my closet.
I'm thinking of opening the door
and letting him in.
I wonder if he is as lonely as I,
or if he knows what it feels like to
dream.
maybe we can be friends,
and float away together in the
moonlight.
in the gentle whispers of the wind
I think I can hear him crying softly to himself.
it's three in the morning and I tip-toe to him,
and open the door.
it takes my breath away
when I see that ghost is
you
YOU ARE READING
enigmatic
Poetryen·ig·mat·ic /ˌenəɡˈmadik/ adjective difficult to interpret or understand; mysterious. Just a collection of my shitty writing I like to call poetry. How unfortunate. (I am also rather edgy and depressed here so tw for some people but I promise I'm a...
