Who makes grave errors,
Who meanders around,
Fighting all terrors.
But the worst mistake,
One that matters the most,
Is making the decision
To become a ghost.
Woe to the fearful man,
Who is nevermore free!
Woe to the stupid lass,
Woe unto me.
I made that decision,
I thought it was right
When my body was stabbed
During the night.
I wanted to get back!
I wanted revenge!
When I took on a form,
A silvery tinge.
But, alas! I found out
That I couldn’t leave school.
Thus I still seek my murderers,
The accursed slayer and mule!
But I cannot touch anything,
I cannot seek revenge,
And haunt my coward murderers
Whilst in my pale, ghostly tinge.
So here I sit,
So here I sigh,
So here I meander
Waiting to die.
(__/)
(=','=)
(")_(") This is my plotbunny, Richard. I love Richard. Richard loved reviews. They keep him going. *nudgenudgewinkwink*
Tis a different poem.