I Google “how to get over a broken heart”
12,200,000 results in .76 seconds
I think about your hand between my thighs
get a bottle of whiskey
and tell myself I will never call you sober
One morning I woke up in your bed and you weren’t there
One morning I woke up in your bed and you were there
See, that’s the thing about being in love with a ghost
Ghosts make the worst tenants, I didn’t ask for this
I didn’t ask you to haunt me with the way you smack your lips after a drag of your cigarette, and the next one, and the next one. I didn’t want to remember the songs, the music playing in the background, us, the main performance, dancing in your sheets. I touch your forehead with my forehead. It’s sweaty. I find out that ghosts can sweat. Ghosts can tell you they like your new tattoos but all you hear is “There’s a reason I left after your first one”. If I got a tattoo for every time I thought about your lips they would run out of ink.
You’re like a foot of snow after the weatherman said showers
and I’m the mess they clean up in the morning.

From Bauhaus to Beiderbecke
records
on the record deck,
art hangs off the walls.

I stood with Baron Munchausen
in the secret garden and
watched pixies while at play.

It was my wish to meet
Miss Gish
alas it was not to be so
Hollywoodland
was far to grand
for a famers boy and his ***.

Different strokes like sturdy spokes
keep the wheels going round