Walking, slowly walking, I was floating, I knew it.
This isn’t what I thought it would feel like to be a ghost. I just won’t touch anything, move anything.
Tip toeing up the steps to tell my dad, he needed to accept it and let me go, I can’t stay here haunting this place.
“Daddy? I’m dead.”
That didn’t go well. I brought out the band names, the lyrics, everything that kept time, trying to explain the power of sound. Useless.
I packed a backpack. Full of useless shit, I can’t even remember that now. Lie. There was a Doctor Sues book, “Oh the places you’ll go.”
He chased me outside, I promised I’d be back. I couldn’t be sure. No destination.
The town had flooded again, only this time it was my fault. I was crying too much, I brought this back, to show them the seasons. I wanted to make something of all of their trash– resist to touch again, resist to feel something real.
I left things along the way, buried something valuable in every bin.
By the next day I collected it all again only to find myself still existing.
What a massive trip. Still tripping.