There are ghost chairs
dancing shadows in my kitchen
it's a division of demons
creeping into the limelight.

I hold my fists tight.

I am riveted in this breath
staring at the darkness;
the lines on the walls;
I am re-walking dark halls
between men legs.

I can't break my eyes away.
I reach for pictures.
This is a trigger
in full blown affect.
Gotta document
so they'll understand
how unexpected flashbacks
wait lurking in corners.

Television screens
and movie scenes
always avoiding
in case I'm swept in reverse
to the times I was hurt.

Bruises never go away.
They're right here
dancing in the shadows
cast by the day.

I'm stuck in ghost chairs
missing fistfuls of hair.
and I'm there again screaming.
I shudder.
The memory echoes like
thunder in my head.

Turn away
Turn away
Don't travel there today

But you see
emotion lingers
makes the minutes go slow so
it's best to write a poem
and let it seep
to keep it from whispering
"remember me?"

I don't wish to recall
yet I long to fill the holes
sift through the dirt
and dig up the bones.

Someone's gotta pay atonement
for the innocence they took,
but death has come to greet the swine
and they're almost off the hook.

One day they'll return
to where the fires burn
and in the middle will be a chair
just waiting...
waiting...
for the wicked fan fare.

I hope they splay their wrists bare
and eat it with the twine
like they did mine.

All I have left are the pictures
the sunlight makes in halls,
unexpected incidences
when my mind decides to recall,
an ink stained bed sheet,

a thousand journeys
written on lined paper,
and a ghost chair
dancing on my wall.

v.k poetry
venniekocsis.com
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