The World of a Ghost

See, I'm mother? I see nothing within the reach of my arms. Glasses fall like frogs and sewers lick at my legs. I can feel all, and my hands can extend from stones. Air forbids the movement of my lungs, for existence that doesn't exist cannot function in permissible rules. And death approaches them, so eagerly, To devour the meaningless lives that lingers under The bushes of time. Squirells are so plump when young And images on photobucket arouse young men As unspeakable things are done. Softness of touch Protrudes pillows under the moonlit sky, It slowly dies away like a feeling That can't be remembered. My passion for life lingered only In those I had left my coins for And my body crushed itself In the form of a destiny of the ecosystem. Nothing can return to what it was meant to be And all the sacrifices I had made were eaten by Good, but hungry dogs that took advantage of the meat That served them, Taking advantage of their education, their birth, and my death. I can't return, But I see all. I see all And my vision stretches out my body And pops out my bone joints. The pain can't be physical And it can't be healed For eternity, While time passed by Under the noses of all my young children.