Ghostskin
I walk through walls of silence,
breathing, yet unseen.
My shadow stretches further
than the places I have been.
I try to speak—my voice cracks,
their laughter cuts me down.
A chorus made of mockery
that drowns my every sound.
They call me ghost, a nothing,
a whisper without name.
Yet inside burns a candle,
a steady, quiet flame.
If you accept the haunting,
then ghost and soul are one—
but even ghosts hold meaning
beneath a hidden sun.