Cobwebs. Rusted gate. Dusty step. Locked up. Forgotten. An empty bowl. A thriving cactus amongst the ruins. A reflected life with no humanity. Hiding. Biding time.
There’s no key. No exit. Can only push through. Rush in. Yet halt time. The memories linger. Ghosts within ourselves. A heavy burden. A weighted shoulder. A sagging heart. It still pumps but everyday it fades a little more.
That is what she felt everyday as she passed this house. She wanted to scream and see if the windows cracked open. But she knew the ghosts would only hold on tighter.
Categories: identity, mental health, photography, Psychology, women
psychologistmimi 
Reblogged this on bgpetrasade.
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Thanks for the reblog. Cheers
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Ghost in the Machine
Machine in the Ghost
Oh How Life Goes
When We Lose
Human
Parts
Or We Turn
Away Seemingly
Never Coming Back
SMiLes All the Homes in
my Neighborhood Windows
Without Souls Until i Danced The
Mornings in Broad Daylight Not Afraid
to Meet and Greet
All the Warmth
of the Windows
And Brick And
Mortar Without Soul
True it Didn’t Take Long
Before Humanity Came
Out of my and their Machines…
It’s Surely Hard For Many Folks to Break
Through
And Return Again..:)
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Love me a bit of rust
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Yah! Cheers!
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