I Saw a Ghost

comments 2
Poetry
From poppies
Opium is born
Not dust,
Emerging from
Crushed dark seeds.
 
Subjective beauty
And a creative tinge.
She bites her lips,
A full-blown plastic Moon
Floating in an ocean
Of red feathers.
 
Opium is born
Not dust,
Emerging from
Crushed dark seeds.

They decorate
The crumbs
That feed the birds.
 You take a bite,
Like them you fly
And you stop crying.
 
If you were crying.
 
You bite her lips
And catch a glimpse
Of your twisted soul
In the bathroom mirror.
 
And then you leave.
 
Subjective beauty
And a creative tinge.
Dust,
Emerging from
Crushed dark seeds.
 
Subjective thoughts,
Creative bite,
I saw a ghost.

That ghost
Was me.

The Author

Woman. Floaty. Attached. Dettached. Sudden. Note-scribbler. Citizen of the world. Travelling to the moon and back.

2 Comments

  1. Eeks. This is so dark. A chill ran down my spine reading this. There’s something very chilling yet fairly attractive to your poetry. Wow.
    Here’s to new friendships.

    • :)) that was supposed to be ghost-like indeed. hope it wasn’t too chillin’ though, aren’t there good ghosts too? it was eerily loving actually. Cheers! wowing bck.

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