Is it too
much to ask
to be smothered
in candles
and love

I imagine
it would feel like
Heaven
to have composure
and balance
with another.
I am crushed
by my own
Rubble.

I anticipate the day
when my happiness
like an illness
spreads
and I find no cure

Dining alone
a very late dinner
on a Thursday night.
I imagine
this is how Bukowski felt.
All alone
Surrounded by ghosts.

In this very moment
I'm feeling,
still dissatisfied,
but content with being
Incomplete.
I feel that
I'm standing on the brink
of success
and Death is holding my hand
and Fate is kissing my throat
and I'm shy.
Really shy.

I sleep all day
But don't party all night
Yet I am still
Somehow
Exhausted
When the moon rises.
I am a whole lot of
Ache.

You spoke
like a ghost
but you did not whisper.
Word after word
and punch after punch.
Like a ghost
as a ghost.
I have no one left anymore.