I thought
we were once
so close,
knit together
close enough
to know
what's it like,
to be ghost
to each other,
yet wandering
out into our
own colourful
way of life,
just that
we are
chasing
different
colours now.

I never wanted
to be
what you
turned me into,
but I will
live with it,
for I
don't know
how else to live
with myself.

I don't need you
to question
my decisions,
as I do that
well myself,
a plethora of voices
to account for
no reaction,
maybe one
sanguine voice
will rise,
to drive a change
and take me away
from a desolate
morbid graveyard
to yet deserted
but pristine meadows,
with nothing but
a hope
to grow
rather than
just fade away,
and maybe
that is just enough.