Whatever stops me
is right here
underneath my chest
undeniably
holding a grudge
unidentified
the ghost of failures past
neutered, cold, bitter,
judging post factum
and a priori
everything around him
befriending him
would mean
something
to me
not to him
in the end
i'm a host
to a ghost
in the city of daggers
with a decade
behind my shoulders
folded or rather crumpled
so good to know
so good to not forget
so good
so sad
so him
so me
[IMAGE: https://steemitimages.com/DQmTmt34hyY86qpxhMQiqvQ6VnZFdCXTUVEe8MmmpajBN5m/baruch.jpg!HalfHD.jpg]
XIX century gravure by Gustav Dore