Whatever stops me
is right here
underneath my chest
undeniably
holding a grudge
unidentified
the ghost of failures past
neutered, cold, bitter,
judging post factum
and a priori
everything around him
befriending him
would mean
something
to me
not to him
in the end
i'm a host
to a ghost
in the city of daggers
with a decade
behind my shoulders
folded or rather crumpled
so good to know
so good to not forget
so good
so sad
so him
so me
XIX century gravure by Gustav Dore
👏👏👏👍👍👍👏👏👏👏
*My mouth is agape...with no words.
👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏
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Thanks! Did you like it?
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Absolutely! Look forward to reading more of your poetry.
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