This place is full of ghosts.
They exist in the gloomy light of
In those dark cottage walls,
Lingering with a ghoulish fondness.
I find myself drawn to remain also.
Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer
More than fear;
They invite somber reflections-
Reflections of the living as well as the dead-
And I find it pleasantly haunting
To explore the shadows
That hint at the brief spans of life
That may have walked these halls.
Although I worry our friends may have haunted too long;
Now they creak and moan at the slightest breathe
Across the stairs;
Wail and whine at the smallest strain.
These quiet graves are full of noise;
Full of grave suggestion
That perhaps we cannot die.
We’re fated to pace these cold floors forever-
Bound by footprints left in dust;
Tied to ballads about lives we can no longer mind
But the world decided to remember.
I’m brooding over a mug
Of black coffee at 4am,
Trying to warm my cold bones
And broken heart…
I drink green tea
After my morning yoga;
I’m about as happy as it gets.
Unfortunately mountains poses
Don’t sell quite as well
As moonlight and despair.
Bury the hatchet,
Or better yet burn it
And scatter the ashes so far across the sea
We stand no chance of digging it up.
‘Cause I know you,
You’ll get bored and start looking.
At least this way
We can only stand on the beach
And reminisce in what
It used to be.
I know you fancy yourself to be quite the artist,
But the rest of us just see it as graffiti;
Walls and walls of words
Hell-bent on ruining everything
You spent your life building.
Burn it to the ground,
Something or other will rise in its place.
Bend Hell into whatever shape you wish;
It will reform sooner or later.
My feet feel like stormy seas,
Leading me away from shore.
My hands feel like cloudy skies,
Grasping at nothing but fog-
Feeling nothing but rainfall.
My eyes see like rocky ground,
Littered with rubble from the past.