Ghost Writer

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I was the voluntary absentee

I effaced myself most willingly

Mine is a heart blown apart

Dislocated shards of plate glass

Flap down, smashing against

the ground. I too descend

You are no longer my friend

For I have made myself known

And once again you are alone

I close the prison gate

And it is far too late

To wonder if the destination

Has been worth the devastation


What do you do if you feel you do not belong? Not to a group of people, a nationality of people, a race of people, but to the species itself, to the planet itself. You are a minority of one. Somehow alien in a way nobody has ever been able to put their finger upon. But they know you are an outslder. They sense it. They smell blood. Human beings are pack animals just like any other. We have been ever since our inception and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Maybe an angel made a clerical error.  All I want is for the world to stop so that I can get off.

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