Writing to ghosts

I’ve spent years of my life reliving my deaths.

A seance to speak of relationships long buried and cold.

now home to wild grass and dandelions

tombstone littered with words spilled too late.

At least you all have company.

Misery never did like eating alone.

Now you haunt the spaces of my mind where I don’t go

A shadow where there is no light

A figure with no shape

A floating specter bathed in a rose hue

You’re not there and I know that,

no matter how much I want to believe you are

You’ve been gone a long time now

some longer than others

some deeper

Some believe ghosts are stuck in purgatory,

to pay for their sins before rising to heaven.

What better way for your taste to linger on my tongue

then to have our sins prick at my mind

never letting me forget how good we were.

But now we are dead

and what we were is fading away

I don’t believe in ghosts

but I believed in us.

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