Haunting ghosts

This is me, back in the days when cigarettes were sublime and I loved celebrating the act;
back in the age, I was convinced I'd had tastes of heartaches enough
to have hardened as much....however, the bruises, dents and lacerations
my heart had suffered so far did nothing to make these years feel worthwhile.


5 years of erosion, uncontrollably corroding, slowly gnawing
away at my body and mind do suffice to make a stranger
out of myself. And then, looking up into the bathroom mirror
I see myself and get uneasy. Something isn't quite right.




Where is my spark? The conflagrating fire
that kept me from ever truly resting - it's why I kept on leaving your bed
while you were sleeping, though I'd said yes to breakfast times and again.

I run because the instant the flame dies down,
ice crystals start forming, already interfering with the workings of my mind.
Day after day, I open my eyes and jump up and run
to find some gasoline.

My taste of the darker shades and a passion for making
a show of myself had a way of making me able to appear to be anything
to anyone, be whatever you wanted to see in me -

to be the fleeting ghost you'd better never catch
because the truth about me will sober you so
that you'll wish you'd never called for being haunted so much.