Lie in the cool grass and let the sun wash over your bones  

Shake your head and whisper nothings to the wind  

Drift between the trees and cling to the thick fog in desperation  

Sing wordless songs and make no sound as you sit in the tallest tree looking out over everyone  

Watch the sun rise and set everyday and run from the moon  

Ghost your lips over the water you can’t feel and trail your fingers through the dirt  

Hold onto the stars and pray to a meaningless existence  

Call out to the foxes and laugh when they don’t turn to look at you  

Make daisy chains and wait for them to decay just like you  

Hold your own hand and wish the silence away  

Smile although no one’s heard your voice in thirty years and you can’t remember what it used to sound like  

Let summer slip through your fingers and try to hold the last of the green grass in your milky arms  

The fall rain will stream through your skin and you’ll go back into the trees to hid from it  

Winter will start soon and you won’t notice the cold  

The white snow will blanket your favorite field and there won’t be any tracks from your nonexistence  

The sky will turn from gray to blue and the flowers will start to grow again  

Bones will rest there in the field and more and more flowers will creep up through your ribcage  

The moss covered rocks will guard you and you’ll stay between the field and the trees for another year  

Thirty-one will become thirty-two and soon it’ll have been forty years  

Forty years of your bones resting in the field as they quietly turn to dirt and plants and it’ll soon be forty years of drifting 

 

Being a ghost isn’t so bad once you get used to silence