38 Poem by Tori Bachue

Two different states of being
I moved to the plane of falsity long ago
But as I smile and joke
With each passing tragedy
With every tear
I feel it growing inside me
The other self, expanding
Eroding and withering
I never tend to it
And so it grows uglier
And I am appaled
And wish
That I'll never slip into it again
No pit for me
No matter how hard I will have to run
Clinging to life and HER
Living for her, with desperate need
Can't stop, can't slow down
Can't listen, can't see
Can't hide.
A ghost where I stand.