The ghost of myself still haunts me so,
while I’m a shell of me I am still whole
while I am whole, I am a shell of me still
broken pieces, like that of shattered glass on the sill.
Those bits cannot be put back together
but tether the ligaments and the structure is still sound.
Between blood-curdling screams and somber sobs
the soul lies bleeding out on the floor, without, yet one sound.
On the cusp, a hand-held out, an offering of salvation,
salvation of truth.
Blood, while blue in the vein turns red in the air and appears quite black in the moonlight.
My shadow is still stuck on the wall,
watching in amusement, giggling, quite content with itself
my heart in a jar, high up on the shelf.
The ghost of my shadow will always remain
following me where ever I go.
Even when I try to wash it away, it stays.
I’ve scrubbed myself till I’ve bled and bled some more.
That ghostly shadow lingers like a nasty little whore.
Deep in the alleys, where I once lived, under the stairwell, where I once hid,
out on the moors, where I wandered for days, beneath the front porch light, where I tried to keep it a bay.
Oh Captain, my captain where have you gone?
ran away with the shadow, then came right back home.
Over the fields the pretty one grew
home again, home again,
looking for you.
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