painted white

sometimes i think i've been painted white to
blend in with the walls behind me. and
my body's been strung up on a ceiling-fan,

(but no one can see me because i'm one of
those ghosts without a purpose.)

no one can sense the broken spirit in a small
smile or stare, and i'm drunk on this feeling of
non-existence.

i'm wasted, developing another addiction for this
high; it's a gaze thrown into the air around us,
drawn to the tense emotions within my
rotting, invisible corpse.

(but no one can see me because i'm one of
those ghosts without a purpose.)