LOS-TA-TSEA
Leave, go find a better place to scheme,
Green, the color of the face when it dreams,
Theme: isolation to the absolute extreme,
Believe in a life left unseen, uninterrupted,
No more counting scores, mending fences,
Dark soul reflecting in kaleidoscopic lenses.
Social security card reads: LOS-TA-TSEA
bleed but the blood trail drip clean
Wiped but they dust for fingerprints, all
That was left was old manuscripts, the
Penmanship illegible, clown hands,
clown shoes left shined on the pedestal
The heart survives, found, ruptured
In an archive, a century after the fact,
Owner lost, forgotten, just scribbles
hidden on old hard drives, translation
Will pure yet so unsanctified, unclear
Who knew ghosts could have a wishlist?