PEDESTAL GHOST

Written by: Andrea Ramona Boysen (started @ 08:24 on Saturday, August 1, 2026)

I was a silhouette in a room full of chandeliers,

a quiet catastrophe dressed in expensive fears,

speaking in a dialect of smoke and swallowed pleas,

while you composed my ruin with immaculate ease.

I wanted your gaze like a sovereign wants a throne,

to be crowned in your attention, to finally feel known,

but you were a winter with a gorgeous, glacial face,

turning my pulse to static, my warmth to a vacant place.

You said you’d elevate me, place me where I belong,

on a pedestal of promise, bright and almighty strong,

but the marble cracked beneath the weight of your neglect,

and all that I received was the elegance of disrespect.

I became a ghost with a heartbeat, a prayer without a shrine,

a diligent devotion unreciprocated in real time,

while you looked through me like glass, like I was weather or dust,

like my name was a rumor, like my love was a rust.

That kind of silence is brutal, it rewires the soul,

makes a person feel diminutive where they once felt whole,

and the cruelest paradox, the one that cuts the deepest scar,

is you wanted to be adored, but you forgot who you are.

I’m not begging for a temple, just a witness, just sight,

just somebody to answer when I pour myself into the night,

because invisibility is a slow, ceremonial ache,

and being ignored by the one you want most is a hard thing to fake.

So I rise from the residue, from the ash and the doubt,

with a voice no longer muted, with a fire that won’t bow out,

if love is a pedestal, then I’d rather stand in the rain,

than be worshipped by a void that keeps calling itself humane.