ghosts

the need of feeling something is absurd.
need itself is, 
some might say.


I therefore am absurd.


I want to feel.


so I say to myself I need to feel I'm lonely, cause I think I am (when I'm not).
I'd like to think I'm not this depressing fraudster,
but the voice in my head tells me I am.


It also tells me I want to be saved by doing nothing and that is never going to happen.
cause I like it here.


I like to want something that I don't pursue.
I am beyond self-pity.


I like myself and I hate who I am.
I should stop 
I know this is bullshit
I know
I can't stop, I could but I don't want to.
It's wrong I know, my words are the facade of a ghosts' house


they fill up my chest, my head, my voice.
not friendly ghosts these ones. 
they don't give a damn if I feel or if I want or if I think or if I speak.


they just watch.
that's all it takes
to make me small.


to fade me out.




the voice in my head says it's enough, and the one above it says it wasn't worth it.
that now I really have to stop.