Ghosts in Passing

It’s been over a week
and I still see you in my
waking dreams.
You still walk some of the paths
you walked before you
walked away.
But my mind still wanders
like an absent-minded drunk
and stumbles upon you.

Never have I been so naive
as to think the eviction notice
I issued would expedite the
process which only the hands of time
can erase from this landscape.

But one thing has changed

My stumblingdrunk mind
has thrown down his bottle
and lit a match
The fumes alone should tell you
what’s coming next
as he strikes a flame to a zippo
and smiles to the fear in your eyes
because everything is flammable
like a house made of paper
coated in kerosene
and everything ignites
including you.

And you look in my mind’s eye
as he draws you in close
to kiss it all goodbye.
You are no more than a ghost,
a memory and a thousand graves
dug for a thousand memories
placed in order from the day we met
until the day you die here,
Paper doll face
Your mouth fuming with the smoke of lies
and justifying excuses

And all my sins forgiven
for the hell you put my mind through.
He is fireproof
And certainly immune to you
and all the monsters you conjured.
I killed them with fire and chainsaws
and ripped them apart with my bare hands,

And all my good deeds forgotten by you
since you put me in second place
I hope the ghost of my memory haunts you
late at night
when you stare at the ceiling and wonder
where things might not be right
I hope you remember the volume in my voice
when you ripped the stitches off a healing wound
and let it bleed, unwilling to really talk to me.
I hope it shatters the light bulb in your head
and, for a moment, when things go dark,
you’ll have some idea as to what it was like
for me.

Eventually, I’ll stitch myself up again
and maybe let somebody near the wound
but I want you to at least be aware of the blood you shed
But I’m sure you could care less anyway.


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