a statistic
RIP
don't know how;
i go from mourning to night,
(a quick little flight)
but i come back down
mutually taken
give away before - what - the poison reached,
was it even wanted?
revisiting the place it started;
the smell of the stale air of that room, still holds dear
open 24 hours
like i was for you,
both time and heart.
where did you go?
you were just here
where you even here,
sad ghost i loved?
did i?
the answer will not be found
nor should it ever be.
but i still fell your calming hand on my back,
lofting.
still haunting, like the beginning;
however, a new way.
less alive,
truly ghosting.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC