There is a ghost in the backyard of my father’s house overlooking the lake.
I only come by once in a while to rest my head from my travels
but when I do visit, the ghost is faithfully floating above the place that haunts me.
She never looks into my eyes,
but I know she starts her performance when she feels me around.
Her phantom is that of a polluted princess - acid rain.
Sometimes I sit and stare at her safely from the screen.
And she’ll start moving the way she always does.
Tragedy embedded in her every movement
and I can see the vibrations from her mouth shoot off into the night sky,
tears come to my eyes. But no one can hear her cries, except mine.
The tree branches encourage her misery
and they sway in synchronicity with her body.
She struggles for freedom, the branches lift higher.
She falls to the floor and leaves splash around her; elegantly descending.
Most times I look away.
I already know what happens next.
But then there are the times when I’m feeling morose and existential,
cigarette in my hand poised like a gun to my mouth; suicidal.
Those are the times I keep looking at her.
She then turns toward me, cuffed at the hands - dragging.
She doesn't want to leave. Her ghost-like body transcends the doors and walls,
and she’s heading toward the front door. She goes through me on her way out.
In that precise moment where we both are one, I feel whole again.
She continues on past my matter, and I’m vacant.
Gypsy living has taken me worlds away from my father’s place.
But I still think about the ghost ******* the lake and when I do, time and space
travel me down a spiral south bound.
gaped open, mouth wide, wide eyes transmogrify
the missing part of myself into
something someone can hold in the palms of their hands
that screams suffer, lover.
Losing you can't replace.
Darkness closing in settles in comfortably, finds a cozy place.
She is an extension of me due to my pain.
And I relive it every time I visit the lake.
Maybe one day ghost girl will walk through me and stay.