These Ghosts

And once again I pick on myself until I bleed,

Rashes behind my ears let the demons feed.

The red trickling down my back is too warm.

I’m done voiding myself to save others from harm.

Though the heart drums beat dangerously loud

I manage to raise my voice over these crowds.

They turn their heads to catch a brief glimpse

Of this pulled apart soul, covered in safety pins.

For a moment they listen as I raise my hands,

They see my anger trickling into the sand.

With roaring applause their faces turn to dust,

I bow to myself in the mirror, covered in rust.

And maybe you weren’t right when you said

“These ghosts will only cheer over your deathbed.”