It’s dark here.
And I am all that is left.
The last ship sailed.
Blowing cold smoke from my lips.
Time seems joyful at my dismay.
But this sinking feeling again.
Has been ever present.
I just pushed it away.
Hoping to forget.
I’m an unfinished masterpiece.
Oh what could’ve been?
If you had poise.
If you had a vision.
Or an aim.
But now my skin is now gone.
I wander with the rest of the ghosts.
Singing my stories.
To those that might listen.
Of the great things I’ve yet to accomplish.