There’s nothing worse than feeling like a ghost.

Stuck in a disassociated state, yet still in a body; a ghoul, a host.

A host for some parasite that has erased my identity.

I’m so used to it being there that I almost feel bad for it when life isn’t enough of an amenity.



My shadow duplicates at night while I walk.

As they lessen each day, I feel as if the opportunity of death knocks. 

And yet nothing happens, no matter how hard I wish,

This parasite knows that the thought of my own death is something I relish.



Is it trying to make me realize that I’m not supposed to die?

Or is it trapping me so it can live on, telling me lies?