No shit - A poem

A ghost of a man

Conducting our days with cold dead hands
Coming alive at night with the help of some tonic

Singing love songs
But just moving his lips

He had mastered the art of not breathing too deeply
Giving himself all day then taking it back secretly

A stand-in in a one-act play

I lingered in the hallway
He sat in the dark
Come with me, I begged
I know he didn't know yet
I will not he muttered

You'll be sorry
I was sorry
It was the end

I found my reason
or he found me
I'm a metaphor

No shit