All I see is cold,
damp night
settling in my mind.
When I walk alone,
history lies on the pavement
I am walking.
Ghosts roam around the cemeteries,
asking people
their way home.
Nobody sees them.
Nobody understands.
They sit on the benches,
close to the people,
whispering in their ears,
a certain tingling sensation.
I stand up from the bench,
look around.
She says,
“Stay here for a while.”
She repeats,
“Stay here for a while.”
Even the ghosts are lonely.
They keep talking
to their own beings,
still waiting
for someone to return.
I wonder
if that is why
I am still here.
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