A ghost haunts me
when I try to fall asleep,
its pale, translucent body
morphing like smoke amidst
the cold night.
It lies beside me
with its arm wrapped around me,
its hollowed gaze impaling
my frail mind.
What
is this
ghost to you?
This ghost of mine is a memory:
a regret,
a mistake,
a dejection.
It holds my shaking hand
and runs its fingers
through my obsidian hair
as a reminder that
it will always be a part of me.
What crimes
have you committed
to make it haunt
you so?
Don't you know
that my flaws
tie my bones together,
that guilt
runs through my battered veins,
that pain
keeps my limbs from falling?
This ghost of mine
haunts me during these silent nights
because that's when its quiet voice is the loudest.
The wrongs I've done to others
doesn't compare to the torment
I've caused for myself.
This ghost
keeps me up
at night
to remind me that
I will forever
be the source
of my own
suffering.
YOU ARE READING
The Ebb & Flow of Virtue
Poetry~ There is good and bad constantly warring with each other inside you, a small voice resounds in my conscience just as my vision dips underneath the salty water, it is similar to how the land fights with the sea, the sky with gravity, the light...
