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Lost Ghosts

I try to not let my mind travel far 


I sit alone with the emptiness 

Think of that summer and Cipralex 


I fall asleep at the end of the hour 


I lay on the bed

              such motionless existence 


My throat knotted

My organs donated 


I think about you dying

                 in the middle of the night 



I dream of fatal silence

Birds chirping 

                                        Good           Love  



Do not convince me      this is good

Beautiful people I murder 

                                             the show 

And make it                  good for you


You talk about loneliness

I tell you it makes me feel less whole 


I call the numbers on my phone 

These ghosts rarely pick up

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