'Lilly's Ghost' by Ravyn LaRue

Well you know what she does-

She likes complaining a lot

Though she tries to pass it off in art.

At least it shows she’s sorry.


She’s all too superstitious

Why couldn’t she keep with the common ones

Like the holy spirit and God and that sort of thing

But she’s off proclaiming doom and voodoo and demons

And the lake isn’t frozen over anymore.


She likes talking about strength

And beauty

And death

And glory

And art

And emotion

She thinks she’s some prophet

It’s disheartening

She’s just a dumb girl who thinks what she does is so much better

Well, I’ll tell you now

It isn’t.


Her spirit, art and soul, as much as she prays it to be, is not immortal.

It will hit her in her old age

She’ll be on a chair, watching static on the tv, hunched over soup

And in the corner of her eye, she’ll catch one of her beloved ghosts

Suddenly it will hit her like a cannon

“I’ve wasted my life pontificating my self-righteous sorrows- I could have done so much good…

Could Have…”

But it’ll be too late.


And her ghost will haunt the poor sorry souls of her family

Shrieking-

REMEMBER ME!

REMEMBER ME!

But they won’t-

They’ll only remember a pretentious little child-

Nameless.

And cold.

And all those emotions she sobbed over will mean nothing, for they died with her.

Nothing is immortal- remember that.