The hands that once held my face,
Now haunt me.
When I turn to face you, there’s a trace of dust.
I could’ve sworn you reached out for me;
how gravely mistaken I was.
A chill sneaks up my spine as I inhale fear and exhale disappointment.
Ghosts often come about when the hope for reality is much too daft.
Share
Print
Save
Regis 😊👌🍁🌷💫
compelling read
never stop writing
m