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Let the ghosts have the first word…For their bones…Lie restless…Erasing years worth of words…That at a time clanged with a chime…That bestowed a meaningful truth…But has since turned pretentious and stagnant…Now I welcome new perspectives to the point of almost yearning…I house within me…Completion…As I manufacture self-destruction…I have been deprived of nirvana…Deeper issues await you…Once, you’ve turned, ghost…All sympathy drained. Losing blood, no hope, to replenish…All of this ends, abruptly…This is not a home. It’s a coffin…Illusions be torn from the walls I’ve constructed…For all I’ve pursued…Hands. Finally, in the position of control…Let the ghosts have the final word…For they don’t rest in peace…Invigorated by the numbness I felt by the conclusion.

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