deepundergroundpoetry.com
Going back for Ghosts
Morning has not awoken to listen, yet
as head lights and neon signs
pass me like flickering candle lights
driving the darkness away
for split moments at a time.
I'm driving recklessly, selfishly;
stressing down my Memory Lane
recognizing past ghost travels
Hesitating.
Continuing.
The burnt out motor struggles;
wheels are down to bare rims;
Screaming to the surface
..Of Me, of Time, of Past,
Trying to spark some reaction
to my paralyzed mind.
They are scattering sounds on my mind's freeway
Free?
As if remembering this was ever a true Choice.
Hands want to turn back;
turn away from the city of ghosts
but Memory pound into me,
as cut electrifying bits of waves and particles
and a Need pin me to a destination of past.
Leaving my Now, broken;
I'm burnt out; fueled out
Structure carrying ripped pieces
breaking underneath
tugging at my roots,
layer after layer.
Tears have rained and blood have been spilled
Oh fuck, this body wont hold!
My shell is withering like peeled off skin,
as if the rain killed the backseat's leather.
I drive down this realm of forgotten parts
AGAIN
[seemingly never reaching my goal]
My limbs decaying like long since bloomed daisies
leaving my Core all alone,
vulnerable and naked
bending in the Wind.
I'm going back for Ghosts
I'm going back for Me
For there is the process of retaliation,
lying awake seemingly without retribution
in hands of ignorant and vivid minds;
when the city sleeps in corners of past
Forgotten Life
but Remembering Loss.
Sunshine when the day breaks
is now the only light
that can awake my blank mind
and bring Clear Sight to my Soul
Although my Morning,
[however longed for]
has no place in a city of ghosts;
thus has yet to awake and Listen
..to Me
ღ
Skye
as head lights and neon signs
pass me like flickering candle lights
driving the darkness away
for split moments at a time.
I'm driving recklessly, selfishly;
stressing down my Memory Lane
recognizing past ghost travels
Hesitating.
Continuing.
The burnt out motor struggles;
wheels are down to bare rims;
Screaming to the surface
..Of Me, of Time, of Past,
Trying to spark some reaction
to my paralyzed mind.
They are scattering sounds on my mind's freeway
Free?
As if remembering this was ever a true Choice.
Hands want to turn back;
turn away from the city of ghosts
but Memory pound into me,
as cut electrifying bits of waves and particles
and a Need pin me to a destination of past.
Leaving my Now, broken;
I'm burnt out; fueled out
Structure carrying ripped pieces
breaking underneath
tugging at my roots,
layer after layer.
Tears have rained and blood have been spilled
Oh fuck, this body wont hold!
My shell is withering like peeled off skin,
as if the rain killed the backseat's leather.
I drive down this realm of forgotten parts
AGAIN
[seemingly never reaching my goal]
My limbs decaying like long since bloomed daisies
leaving my Core all alone,
vulnerable and naked
bending in the Wind.
I'm going back for Ghosts
I'm going back for Me
For there is the process of retaliation,
lying awake seemingly without retribution
in hands of ignorant and vivid minds;
when the city sleeps in corners of past
Forgotten Life
but Remembering Loss.
Sunshine when the day breaks
is now the only light
that can awake my blank mind
and bring Clear Sight to my Soul
Although my Morning,
[however longed for]
has no place in a city of ghosts;
thus has yet to awake and Listen
..to Me
ღ
Skye
Published 3rd Jul 2019
Author's Note
So many nights have passed in terror and horror, some where I didn't know I would make it, until I did. And each of them paralyzing and all I kept doing was begging for the day to wake up. This is about those times, dark as they were.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
- Edited 21st Oct 2019 5:45am
3rd Jul 2019 9:19pm
<< post removed >>
3rd Jul 2019 9:50pm
"I thought as first that this described traveling to the past to relive regret, but I wonder now if this lends itself more to a past trauma, dragging the narrator to the past against her will. "
This is why you're great. You go for understanding it, and I love that. Thank you. It was and have been unwilling travels indeed, to dark unholy places without control.
Thank you for scraping the surface and be open to another view for the sake of seeing it <3
ღ
Skye
This is why you're great. You go for understanding it, and I love that. Thank you. It was and have been unwilling travels indeed, to dark unholy places without control.
Thank you for scraping the surface and be open to another view for the sake of seeing it <3
ღ
Skye
3rd Jul 2019 11:06pm
The title is well chosen. It does indeed seem the crux of the poem. Carefully considering the metaphors as I they cascade down the page. It reads to me like a dark night of the soul. Something anyone can relate to. Light shines ever brighten when we emerge from a long stretch of darkness. Our suffering finds it's purpose in transformation. I can sense how transformed you are in the energy you emit. Wonderful to contemplate your ink.
4th Jul 2019 8:09am
Thank you :) I believe the fight for my right to live has transformed me in stages. The more we See, the tougher the Fight, the higher we Rise.
It demands acknowledgement and truth, being Better doesn't come from lies. Being Strong doesn't come from inability to feel, but the ability to be vulnerable.
Thank you for your thoughts and your understanding.
ღ
Skye
It demands acknowledgement and truth, being Better doesn't come from lies. Being Strong doesn't come from inability to feel, but the ability to be vulnerable.
Thank you for your thoughts and your understanding.
ღ
Skye
4th Jul 2019 5:12pm
So agree. It's wonderful to talk with you and I'm so glad you came through it.
