Am I a Ghost?

An illusion,
disillusioned by what I thought was there.

I can't see
Am I seen?
There is no transparency.

Is my voice filtered and unheard;
just a whistling of a breath
blown above the emptiness
of a bitter brown bottle?

Are my thoughts absurd?

My tears cling
like drops of condensation
to the cold glass
falling away from the walls
before the fat tire goes flat.

Will I be remembered,
was I present?

Can you see me through the toxic tar
or has my essence drowned
within the effervescence of the jar?

©2009