I am the ghost of a heart and a head in the clouds. I am the ghost of a smile through the holes in my mouth. I am the ghost of a timeline that worked itself out. Now I know nothing but the monsters we make of ourselves.
But you paint a picture of life that I'm blind to. There are too many grays I cannot leave behind. I'm not a promising future, I'm only a past. I'm still looking back.
They are the faces fit to a mold and remade. They are the big shots and small talks and half-hearted hardly-earned pay. She is the voice that screams, "you'll lose love if you can't escape." I'm losing it already, so there's no difference anyways.
We are hell-bent and obsessed with ends and beginnings, and we have our hearts set on forgetting everything in between them. But I am only a ghost, and looking back is all that I know. I am not a promising future, but I promise you I'm not a past. So I'll dig up some dirt, and I'll pray for what it's worth that I'm half the man you say I am. I believe in these words, and these words are enough for now. I believe in something. I will not let you down.
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