SMOKE
February 21, 2010
These bones, they’re haunted,
By night they creak,
Inside me there’s howling
each time that I speak…
I awake with a feeling
I’ve been far away,
And whoever’s been here
Has left it all grey.
They aimlessly wander
through each empty room,
Their foot steps echo
like steps in a tomb.
When it rains
I feel them peer out my eyes,
With long hollow gazes
surveying the skies.
I’m a mansion of ghosts
made of flesh, full of breath…
What do they wait for,
What do they wait for,
For life? or for death?
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