We are in a state of disrepair.
Tired eyes, searching blind.
Watching the fading light -
of a brighter yesterday.
All I have left,
All that I've kept.
Bottled up the memories.
Fragments of stale dreams.
Forever haunting me.
The ghosts cry out,
Pinning me down.
Reaching out to spectral hope,
Wishing poison will leave me -
alone again.
And I can lie amongst the tulips,
Paper cuts and floral bruises.
Imagination will be the death of me.
