The Wraith – Nicholas Yandell

Awake

To a dream

That walks like me

Holds my reflection

But speaks unsteadily

 

Hollowed

By open air

Through windowless holes

Of ghost town shacks

 

A phantom

Abandoned

Still drifting

        And mapping

     

Invisible pinpoints

 

To steady ticks

Of some other clock

      Under the glare

Of some other sun

     

      Striving

         

            In vain

 

Grafting creatures underfoot

               Rejected

Like a failed organ transplant

     Banished

 

From its warm blood sanctuary

 

Surfacing

To sputter

The wilderness

Of wandering

The floating highways

Sinking trails

And vanishing tracks

 

Carrying

      No option but retreat

Through dark curtains of follicles

And wire meshes of veins

The backbreaking calluses

Painfully

Gradually

Flaking away

 

To specks of a scar

Concealed

From waking eyes

 

Existing

 

Persisting

 

As a dormant key

In the stirs of sleep

Of a restless faraway being.

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