2 October 2012
I sit with pale hands, Watch where the dust lands.
My heart an empty void, No longer humanoid.
Transparent and alone, This, what Death has shown.
A tear stopped in its tracks, My skin with many cracks.
An imperfect, haunted ghost, Much quieter than most.
What yet's left to say? Time no longer has its way.
Died too to young? Who cares? Nobody stops and stares.
No one will ever see, The ghost in here is me.
The Quiet Ghost. • Opuss № I