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J Hill

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Halloween of 2010

Like the ghosts, I’m dead to you. If you ever did look, you only saw through.

Won’t hear my voice, can’t take my calls.

If you dream of me, do I walk through the walls?

I was eleven believed in a heaven I never once thought I would see.

Six in the evening the other kids leaving, I fail while just trying to please.

The anger is what made you mean.

And wish now for the mask unseen.

Sometimes in my waiting, I find myself shaking; sometimes do you ever see me?

Or, wonder who I was to be.

A dream is just something you see. A vain apparition, a mist that is lifting, the last thing I ate, it was peas.

I left at a quarter to three.

A thing you could never let be

.

A thin machination, your bad-magination, a vision so fast to see through.

My message is feeble, not half-worth the trouble, while vanity certainly calls, too.

You hunt through leftovers, I walk though the walls.

Silent, a forest bound, great tree falls.

While you dream of me, wandering incomplete halls.

The same as the ghosts, you don’t answer to.

Like a ghost, I’m dead to you.

If you went back to look, you’d still only see through. Forever ever-lasting, yet instant to do.

Like the ghost, that I am now to you.

A vain apparition you can often see through.

A faint reflection in memory’s glue.

Question my voice, refuse all my calls.

As you dream of me, passing through walls.

@2010 J Hill

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