Burnt remains of pictures surround me;
Seperated from the past, torn.
I sit in puddles of memories,
Confronting my emotions.
Her ghostly face whispers to me;
Through the burnt edges I see myself.
At times, I still feel like that girl;
Losing grip from her reality.
Lacking the desire to see yet another day,
Her face echoes her starvation from life.
She's a ghost to the present.
Her only demand is for the nightmare to end.
She has lost the will to live,
She has lost all hope of a better tomorrow.
Burnt remains of framed memories surround me;
The ghost I once was still haunts me.
It still whispers its taunting regrets;
Begging me to slip back into the past.
