Living in a Stolen Body

2014-11-03 03:08 AM

I am a ghost, living in a stolen body.
I do not say these words lightly,
despite how melodramatic
and pretentious the very notion is.

I'm not afraid of dying.
And I am tired of living.
But dying would simply mean
returning to the great dark, for me.

That cold oblivion that spawned me.
A place of endless nothing,
where anything is impossible.
The vastness of infinite sleep.

I don't mind that too much.
I can't sleep as it is.
I need some rest.

Because as a ghost, I don't really dream.
I simply live life for the sake of surviving,
hollowed out and completely numb
to the previous owner's history.

I am already nothing. I am already no-one.
I weren't meant to exist in the first place.
I'm simply the ghost stuck inside a corpse,
and I envy those who can dream.

I envy those who can live for the sake of living.
I envy those who can see the light and not be blinded.
I envy those who feel at peace with themselves.
I envy those who even have a real self.

Because I'm a Ghost, living in a stolen body.
The owner of which still lives in the depths,
the prisons of mists and blockades,
trying to claw his way out

not realizing that he was the one
that built the dungeon to imprison his memories
and lock them up for good in the first place.

He breathed anguish every day,
and hated living so hard that he just forgot.
It happened gradually though.

But his spirit is so tightly shackled inside his body
that I'm not sure if he can ever get out.

I can access some of his memories.
I can feel him inside of me, screaming,
aching in pain for a chance to be released.

And my only wish left is for me to fade.
I wish that I could return to oblivion,
like the ghost I am should do.

But I'm not sure he'd really want to return.
He locked himself in there for a reason.

Because if he breaks free,
all his memories will return too.

And those memories...
Are enough to make Ghosts
take pity on you.