The ghost afront

 Grey hair covers the person who laughed
who bragged and raved how do
we'll never know ourselves
you made it through the stages
pretending the thing you thought you were

Laughing is painful cracks like a whip
it echoes again like there's shelter from it on the world
Age battles us all a souvenir year to the nostalgic
Snow globes and keyrings to a decorative burial

Beauty and ceremony grief and pomp
Prides fat layer of inner lethargy
only escaping with the ingestion of grog
obsessions make us all thick and liquidy like cake icing

When the ghost looks at you
fright and inquisition
Appropriate fearful workholic
Open up and ask

What kind of myth am I
what animal in the wild
what vibe do I radiate at all
Am I the lost the pariah

the outcast rebel adventurer
the damned eternal
The mess left for others
The ouija board shuffle

these thousand staircases
these towers of status
give me an ounce of snity
as I float in your reflection

night  breathed in through window
Make our way mouth by mouth
to the tenth story death
test the dragon of the heart

ask its secrets ruthless
Let it avoid truth
point you to the feckless
you strove for each clue

The old blind to youth,
the youth sees the old
ignorance is a choice
where's the wisdom 
beyond the appearance

ask the question
that freezes blood
that burns skin
accumulated in heart and mind

that is the tick in your face or your wrist
ask the question it is the raven
it must be free in those dry skies
which will soon be filled with cloud born morners

the mirror shows you nothing
Yet a centimeter of you is fossilized
A potential clone
to follow a similar trajectory

The copy is not a meaning
just another attempt to manifest
pouring through to the material
randomly reinventing

To grin and tolerate other's grins
To climb the tower stairwell often blinded
by the lights and darknesses
the shock of contrasts

the untouchable secrets of the heart
The intangible deathnote written on the air of grief
The last pats on the back
The rhythmic sobbing the drumdrop of tears

The blindness to the past
A mixed tape of liquidy cake icing
Oversweetened and miguiding
Far from the reality of this ghost that stands infront of you