Quiet, not.

I live in a box.
Cardboard floors
catch my falls
But they are cold
I need a warm embrace
And whispers exploding
into flames

Burn the box down
There are too many secrets

I chase ghosts down gray hallways
I talk to God
I hear the Devil
I seek angels
but there are no angels
I am dead yet breathing
How can that be?

This can’t rhyme because life doesn’t rhyme and death doesn’t keep time

I lie down on this bed
My hospital gown doesn’t fit
I look like shit
I can’t lie anymore
so i sit

I am a ghost in your future
And mine

Give me time.
You can’t.

Too many lifetimes have escaped me