Leni

silhouette

counting stars

bohemian rhapsody

HUG MEEE

rarrr

my heart will never feel

When are you dead?
How many years have you been hiding in this body?
What killed you?
Was it fast, or did it drag on?
Who touched you last?
Do you still hear their voice?
Do you remember the taste of air, or only dust?
Why are your lips moving when no breath comes out?

Where is your grave?
Who visits it?
What flowers rot on it now?
Do you feel the soil above you pressing down?
Do you scratch the coffin lid in your dreams?
Or do you wake already buried?

Look at your hands.
Why don’t they tremble like the living?
Why don’t they sweat?
Why do they pass through the table when no one blinks?
Why does your skin stay cold no matter the light?

When you look in the mirror, what looks back?
Is it your face, or just an outline?
Where is your shadow now?
Does it still follow you, or did it stay where you died?
Why does glass refuse your reflection?

Who saw you last alive?
Do they still remember your voice?
Do they call your name in the dark?
Do you answer them?
Why can’t you stop?
Why do you keep haunting?

Do you walk through doors?
Do you rattle windows?
Do you whisper when you think no one hears?
What language do you speak at night?
Do the living understand you, or only the dead?

Tell me, what do you smell of?
Earth?
Smoke?
Blood?
Hospitals?
Rivers?
Every ghost carries its own perfume of death. Which is yours?

When was the last time you felt hunger?
When was the last time you felt pain?
When was the last time you felt anything real?
Or are you just echo now?

Who did you follow into this room?
Whose breath are you copying?
Whose seat do you steal when the lights go down?
Why are you pretending to belong here?

When are you dead?
Not if.
Not maybe.
When.
Say it.

Leni

romantaries

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