Elegy

He’s a ghostwriter
A lost spirit’s scribbler

Etching emotions
Revealing his demons
In all possible ways
While counting his days
To leave this frail host
As his mind’s effin’ toast
And each breathe’s a cost

Without waiting for another dawn
In any split second, he’ll be gone
Drifting in a reverie that’s lost
With the residual feelings frost

Last words arranged, left in a note
With love, seeking no pitiful thought

“Hi, I’m a wordsmith who just wished
For my bleeding words to be missed.”