grasping at ghosts,
shades of a life in limbo
tracers bring a manic nostalgia
if there is a me, where does this soul find shape?
there is no permeance except in the ghouls' qualia
nothing remains throughout time but the Nausea
over time I have glimpsed bright lights
in the darkness,
in the eyes of people who will go unseen
the light is a mirage once again
a moment's refuge from stagnant rumination
in a tease, a taste of promised sublimation
mass hysteria of a becoming, a happening,
the chase is all there ever is
some dream of a kingdom of heaven
i find my respite in the ghosts of my life