It's odd that it still stings.
Maybe because what we knew & what we made is a mirror image of a ghost.
Something few believe in & when you didn't we lost sight of what we'd become.
Empty hallways & candles burnt
while wax seeps through my skin & burns.
Like the feeling of my everything being absolutely nothing.
Lost in a mansion of empty hollow rooms, the silhouette of we is lost.
Confusion and cobwebs cloud our judgement,
lost in a maze of reflection & deception tricking myself that I am safe.
I just don't understand how I am being strangled by a phantom.
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