My heart is a ghost. 

My heart is a shadow. 

It keeps on longing towards the darkness
that keeps on pulsing at my veins.
So I keep on cutting my mind, 
draving maps in to my skin.

Maybe one day I might find that X
which marks the spot for my
tale-telling organ. 

Until then my heart is missing, 
halfly torn-apart it lies. 
Bind by ties so darkly/
held behing my bones. 
Curious ones are the feelings
of it's obedience
when it comes to the end
of existing. 

Some ghosts are ghosts
and some hearts are hearts. 

But my heart is a shadow. 
Escaping day light by little deaths. 
With midnight wings
it flies.