Dear ghost,
It was the after showers, bleeding twilight and the falling petals that caressed my dying hours. After the noon when the wind is running at the end of earth, I listened. After the thurdering rain with it's healing whisper, I truly saw. After the drowning sun when the moon returns, I truly breathe. After only when the flowers and all the ornament of earth consoled me, did I wake up to this world again. I tell her, I am dying every day but I wake up everyday from my grave for your trinkets. My only constant shoulder to lean on in the whirlwind of my crashing mind.
Yours even as I fear to be