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The Ghost Writer

A Poem

As I sit here writing this

I know she'll never see me

The girl I've watched over

The abuse she bore

Is it any wonder she's like this

I see her burning and it causes me to feel sympathy

I try to comfort her but she all does is cry

She tries to hide her tremors

Letting them out to few she trusts

Only to be shot down

I've been with her

Since she was born

I'm a mere ghost

Nothing for her to worry about

But I'm also her angel

I hear her call out to me

Begging for the pain to stop

I see her grip the glass

And draw pictures on her arms

I see her lay back and soak her surroundings in crimson

I'm next to her always

Even though she can't see me

I know she feels me

The bright rose I once knew

Is nothing now but a wilted flower

Dropping petals where she walks

I see her reach out for me

If only I could hold her hand

And tell her she's never been alone

I'm only a ghost

But I'm the first friend she's known

And the last friend she will see

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