The victim

Just a poem. No matter how long I run or even fly, I never get there.

The victim

For in all the words

That I have written

Letters showed always

I've suffered most

And that all victims

On Earth, were me

Then, should I whine

Or rather boast?

Sometimes I think

That this is not me

But more like someone

Else's ghost

And it's dictating

All words I write

But this comes usually

With a cost

What can a slice

Of toast, inserted

Between two more

Pieces of toast

Answer could be?

When they ask me

If I'm the ghost

Or I'm the host?