Ghosting

Sometimes I feel I'm ghosting in this world
a vagrant memory of battles lost-
a triviality like a tea light flame
evanescing inside a beautifully adorned pot.

I shined so brightly in that moment I burned
and I was connected once to the people I knew
and now like a rainy, foggy day,
I search through the mists of purgatory.

My best friends are words on a screen
a recognizable emotion in a name:
Glenn means wisdom, Alex means fun,
Sasha means someone when there is no one-

but most of the rest, as much as I enjoy them
belong to the category of wisps in the wind.
a foot hold on a cliff of insurmountable odds
and I don't even recognize myself, "who's Rens?"

I've got no mobility and nowhere I can get to
I live on an island that I call home-
and sometimes I have a companion
and sometimes I'm alone-

but even my Tonto has connections and friends
and family and people who appreciate her-
why do I exist here, who is this ghost I fear
every time that I look in the mirror.