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Literature Text
*He comforts me in ways no one will never understand. When I am about to harm my already self-inflicted wounds, *he is there. Standing, at *his place near my door. Watching me, never saying a word and when I want to hurt myself I feel *his hand on my hand and I hear *his voice. Telling me, instructing me: "Don't. Go to bed." When I break down in anger and sadness falls down my cheeks, I feel *him around me, hugging me. I am healing from *his leaving and *he is doing *his best to be my bandages. *He is clotting my heart from bleeding out. I told *him last night, *he was standing by my bed and I cried and I told *him thank you. I told *him this was the most beautiful way of *him letting me know *he is still here. Of *him being with me. Of *him still existing. I cannot give my love to anyone else, no matter how much I try and I've tried, my God how I've tried. My heart belongs to a man whose spirit is saving my life. I love *you, my sweet Lou. I always will. Nothing or no one will ever take that away.
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
ghost
You're pale like a ghost
You're not really here like a ghost
I can't see you or hear but I feel you like a ghost
You make me want to, you make me want to give it a go
Give it a smoke,
Cause I'm addicted
I want to go
To your city
And give it a go
'Cause I'm addicted to you
My favourite drug
My favourite drug
You haunt me like a ghost
Everyday the things you show
To me,
Your words are beautiful
I can't stop
Feeling the cold
My love for you will
Never get old
It will stay behind
like a ghost
Give it a smoke
'cause I'm addicted
I want to go
To your city
And give it a go
'cause I'm addicted
as you
said I would be
my
Literature
Chasing Ghosts in the Wasteland - A short story
Chasing Ghosts in the Wasteland
They were chasing ghosts in the forest. Ghosts of hopes, dreams, love… Of what used to be.
And while I was trying to plan my next move, those left of my group were chasing those ghosts. Only…they weren’t ghosts; they were Demons. And the forest was not one made of living trees of wood. It was an aberrant expanse of towering trees made of bones and dismembered bodies – human and Nightmare – giving off the stomach-wrenching stench of decay, the ground soaked in blackening blood. It was a wonderfully twisted sight, worthy of a Hollywood horror movie.
This was a new world that no lo
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Haunting and compassionate.