I don’t know if you sleep on a bed or in a casket.
I don’t know if you have another life or if you lost it.
Either way, I know I’m fatherless.
Though you’re not dead to me, I’m dead to you.
In your eyes I died before I was born,
In my eyes that makes no difference to you.
Since ghosts do not feel, you do not feel.
But I feel. I feel your coldhearted ghost hovering over me.
You’re a ghost and I’m ashamed to say you still haunt me.
You’re the ghost, but I’m not real to you.
You’re the ghost, but I’m dead to you.
I wanted to die, so I could become like you.
I wanted to become a ghost, like you.
I wanted to disappear, like you.
I didn’t want to feel anymore, like you.
I didn’t want to wait anymore, for you.
I’m dead to you, but I am alive in Jesus.
I stopped waiting for you.
I started waiting on him.
You’re the ghost who’s dead to me.
He’s the Lord who lives for me.
I am not fatherless,
I am adopted—adopted in him.