Poetry · Writing

ghostbusters

i want to believe-

believe that today and the next are not a patch of air floating between my fingers

that your hands feel something real and not a figure of my imagination

is this- me

i can see what is real but it slips through my fingers

chasing like a dream i will fall through

ghosts of days i want to forget haunt the ones that i need to remember

is this- me

giving up like a dream i don’t know what is real anymore

maybe will buy a firehouse

make a dream of this nightmare

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