deepundergroundpoetry.com
ghost town
my body was all faux-Victorian architecture
and built in a landscape that bore eternal grudges
the phantoms and specters rose and stepped from the creaking walls
my skin like a road where weeds socialize across the cracking asphalt
gathering, laughing when new life wants to breakthrough
weaving around the catching fingers with every step.
my eyes shattered windows
the bitter shards of glass lay on the floor like a thousand tiny daggers
a sense of cynical abandonment
my mouth the door, lips chapped
like old paint peeling away from the wood
hanging on the few threads of their hinges and groan with pain at every sway
my mind the yard with eerily gusty winds, with dust, and tumbleweeds
dark ominous clouds surrounding it,
a dirt road that will turn to a river of mud in the coming monsoon
my heart the investor offering guaranteed peace and security
restoring the soul scar and ghostly echo, piece by piece
flourishing roots reaching throughout, nurtured back to life
I am just a ghost town house
awaiting for restoration and to walk into a world again
where flowers are only paper-thin works of paint and easel
and built in a landscape that bore eternal grudges
the phantoms and specters rose and stepped from the creaking walls
my skin like a road where weeds socialize across the cracking asphalt
gathering, laughing when new life wants to breakthrough
weaving around the catching fingers with every step.
my eyes shattered windows
the bitter shards of glass lay on the floor like a thousand tiny daggers
a sense of cynical abandonment
my mouth the door, lips chapped
like old paint peeling away from the wood
hanging on the few threads of their hinges and groan with pain at every sway
my mind the yard with eerily gusty winds, with dust, and tumbleweeds
dark ominous clouds surrounding it,
a dirt road that will turn to a river of mud in the coming monsoon
my heart the investor offering guaranteed peace and security
restoring the soul scar and ghostly echo, piece by piece
flourishing roots reaching throughout, nurtured back to life
I am just a ghost town house
awaiting for restoration and to walk into a world again
where flowers are only paper-thin works of paint and easel
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