with the lamplight at my back
it feels like someone else is there
my ears full of wax and ghosts
everything i hear is haunted
headphones plugged into a headstone
i serenade the grave
trying to revive corpses with
broken guitar strings
fingertips covered
in decaying remains of A-minors
chord progressions become epitaphs
and choruses turn into obituaries
my throat is a hearse hoarse with death
but
i keep singing duets with my shadow
pretending we are both
alive
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