My passive ghosts

I have given my soul to a passive ghost, Now I'm sentenced to stand under a lamppost, Searching for light while hiding it myself, That is what makes my days wistful the most.

I try to regain consciousness of my mind, So I find another entity to bind To my seemingly lonely persona. I still hang onto everything I find.

I act as if I received a stash of hearts, For I broke mine into identical parts To give to all those riveting people, Whom I consider my own counterparts.

Now only a collapsed spirit, a lost soul, I have only myself to blame that they stole All of me, for when I gave it to them, I knew I'd never again become whole.

Regaining the power I once let burn out Would not mean just telling, I'd have to shout, So the world would hear of all my frenzies, They would then know what my life is about.

How could I ever get back all that I tore, While I keep on taking away even more? Fiber by fiber, just ruins remain... Why am I like a dried lake's sandy shore?