The urge to put to paper what can never be written.

Shared Writings

Poems by Jaxob Ophiuchi

"Too Hungry, These Ghosts"

Reality is too real for us
So we temper it with thoughts
Caught up in the myth of "me"
Hustling ghosts
Into believing in us
Just a pile of old sheets
Just a hamper of dirty costumes
The posthumous identity
Can't conceive
How preposterous
This idea we're believing in is
Don't you see it?
We're made out of dirty laundry
And it becomes crystal clear
That even were we to clean
our worn out suits, these
Roles we wear are out of fashion
The emperor wears no clothes

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