I’m dead and rotten inside,

I am a ghost dressed up in rags.

A weary soul wondering grave sites.

All is dead and rotten and bare. 

Who am I?

How did I die?

Why did I die?

They look at my grave and say,

“He was brilliant and bright,”

Some gawk at my grave and say,

“He was smart, but with pride.”

My father says, “He did nothing for us.”

My sister knows I tried, she knows.

My brother believes my father, he does.

My friends are dead, all of them.

They are disillusioned that they’re alive.

They wear the skin of those that live,

Undress it when it’s time to sleep.

None of us are alive.

Who are we?

When did we die?

Why did we die?

I remember, as a kid, I was alive.

I remember I would jump and touch the sky.

People said, “look he’s touching the sky!”

Afraid, father scolded me and said, “don’t touch the sky!”

I was so bright, I outshined the stars.

People said, “look, he’s outshining the stars.”

Afraid, father said, “don’t outshine the stars!”

I was a good sailor who traveled the world, all around!

People said, “look, he’s not here too much,”

Father said again, “be here!”

Perhaps then I died, I was not allowed to live, to be bright, shine and out there!

Now I’m a ghost, weary and rotten.

a ghost among ghosts.