There's not a day that goes by, without me thinking of you, dying, in someone else's arms.

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

I know an alcoholic is the worse, but sometimes I wonder if it's better to have a drinking father that lives at home, or a drinking father, that never comes around.

It takes time, or does time take it?

You will never be skeleton, when I am in ghost.