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  

                                        movements 

 

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