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Ghost
I don’t want to die,
Thinking I may never die;
Just like another illusory escape
I’ve had to run from.
Growing up,
I had many pretended lives,
Because people fear ghosts.
Hiding myself,
I developed fetish
And became a vicious ghost.
A vicious ghost
Which needed the pretended lives,
To die slowly
While others were born.
The vicious ghost needed the guilt
To keep him in check;
Even if it was pretended guilt.
The vicious ghost was able to supplement
Christianity this way,
So he went on wondering
With his atheism.
He crafted his metaphors like clothes
So he could tell his story
Without the nudity
That would take him back
To the schoolyard.
His poetry was clear enough
Because it was unaccompanied by the mumbling of someone
Who fears a life he cannot end,
Because ending it is supposed to be scary,
Says those who taunt him.
At this point in life
It is just a nagging challenge.
The want to overcome
Despite the need to overcome
The same want.
And I forgave the people I hated,
For having the luxury to be weaker
Because they had a stronger foundation.
I admired those who passed out
Because they were weaker than me,
Regardless of foundation.
I tried to coddle
A baby-brained heroin
As she faced the fact,
She was going down in the book
As a villain.
My poor grandma,
Was too busy rescuing her children,
To save a semblance
Of a childhood for them.
