The Ghost and His Past Self
Sharp were the knives that had cut deep
Cold came my mother like Cassandra telling me truths no one would believe,
Hard was his fall on his own sword they say,
Sad was the death but he had a price to pay.

Was my funeral my consolation prize?
I know what I once was leaves the world better off dead, dead, dead!
But couldn't your sympathy appeal some more
I beg, I beg, I beg.

Now I walk around softly haunting my mother to let her know I'm still here,
And when it's time to sit and read up my eulogy,
It's a blank page, and I don't blame them for not praising me.

I stabbed my mother with words,
I poisoned her by not caring,
I tricked her while disobeying,
I ran over my friends like a car on a highway
I betrayed them and used them like it was just a game
I killed the woman I loved,
Using the slowest way, not loving her enough,
And look, I'm soon fo be nothing but dust.

That's my look back on life
They won't miss my past self,
And now it's just my ghost, his past self and I
We have no one now but we have us
And there's no one reflecting but us.

© Dantewrites