Stumbling around,

there’s so much noise.

I can’t hear anything but the


in my head.

So many doors are locked

and I must see them.

And there is one

who lives among them.

Only they can release

the monsters

and ghosts


They are a ghost themselves,

and they remind me of pain.

How long must I breathe

while others have been hurt

by my own hands

that I create such horrible

works of art with.

Will I always draw red

from people’s hearts

and will I always

lose my own mind

in a cloud of toxic mist?

Will I ever find reality

shining beneath a doorstep

just like the morning’s sun?

For now I live with

the moon and the night.

And I do not sleep

but wander dream worlds,

and I see monsters

and visions of times past,

and I remember the

haunts of my trauma.

There is so much gunk in my head

and I cannot clean it out;

nothing will take it from me

but the whispering caress

of Death.

Yet I cannot take

Death by the hand

for I have loved ones

that only I can see

who will not allow me to.

I am drifting between personhood

and something else.

A being made up of

the bad and tar

humanity is drenched with.

There is not a drop of water

to soothe this hot tar

in my soul.

Its blackness stains

the good parts of me.

And crows sing in my soul

and call me back to the dark.

And I long for their song

and I want to join them again.

I do not want to

make any more mistakes.

I do not want to

talk too much;

let my tongue get away from me.

Can I do it?

Would I do it?

It is inevitable

once old age sets in,

so what does it matter

if I leave early?

The party has

gone on without me

and I am left here,

standing on a rainy street corner,

soot on my hands and face,

and blood mixed in between.

Through the fog comes Death’s hearse

and I wave a hand

filled with anxiety.

It is ironic to

feel so alive

while at Death’s door.

Will they open it for me?

Will they welcome me?

No, where are you going?

Come back for me!

And in the rain I remain,

the carriage come and gone,

and I look up at the sky

and mourn the life I have.

For all I wish is its end

to end my suffering

so I may finally be at peace.

Peace without false hope,

peace without fear of loss,

peace without more knives in my back.

I am a ghost once more.

And I exist for the sake of it.

©2021 Shane Blackheart


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