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ghost girl Oct 2017
our hearts tick like
wind up toys,
parading up and
down the sidewalks
manipulated by
little fingers,
little laughs.

our lives on stage,
a dollhouse,
on display.

we said goodbye
in riddles, and
I always swore
I'd be the one to leave
that I'd never
watch you go

but my heart is a
wind up toy,
ticking and naive
and my mouth
wears a doll's smile
and god
I loved you.

and when you left,
I stood on the doorstep
watching you round
the corner.
the wind up toys
reached the end
of their turn, our
ceramic hands
clapping til they
crumbled.

I waited for you to
look back, to look
at me once more.

you never did.
ghost girl Sep 2017
their sound is cacophony
buried deep in the trenches  
of your mind. they say it's
like a prison these days,
wounds and warriors
bound tight by the old
vines of loss and loneliness.
you look in the mirror
and you see the pale
reflection of a ghost,
someone you used to be,
the soul of life so long
gone that her shape is
tenuous at best, a translucent
curtain between this life
and another, one where maybe
you didn't live as an empty
vessel desperate for meaning.
maybe in that life you didn't
live as an undoing. the fractured
lines of this life are smooth
glass there, unmarred by
want and need, unbroken.
in another life,
you are clean.
ghost girl Sep 2017
I am not
your bitterness.
ghost girl Jul 2017
you.
you left a
bad taste
in my mouth -
your name,
remembering
the selfishness
of every kiss,
the greed in
every touch.
your poison
will not leave
my system -
I cannot forget
you, and that is
not sweet sentiment.
I cannot forget you
in the way someone
can't forget losing a
limb. I can't forget
you in the way you
look at a scar and
remember how the
wound ached and
bled. you're not
scar, though -
you're festering
wound that will
not heal. you're
bone deep infection,
spreading cancer,
airborne disease,
harming every facet
of my life. I can't
close my eyes without
remembering your
fists, without hearing
the sharp tenor of your
yelling voice. I can't
think of you without
shrinking into myself.
you were never
supposed to have
this power over me.
freeing myself from
you was supposed
to free me,
and ******* it
I am free, you are
no longer destroying
my life. but *******
you for haunting me,
******* you.
ghost girl Jul 2017
cliche little broken heart -
I used to watch airplanes
crawl through the clouds
above me, wishing I was on
them. no particular
care about destination,
just soaring above the ground
anywhere but here.
anyone but me.

these days, I look up
and I see planes and they
are simply planes on their
way to some far away place
and there's no part of me
that would be anywhere
but here

in this place with you,
this place where your hand
fits so perfectly into
the curve of my hip,
where your mouth so
perfectly lies against
the curve of my neck.
ghost girl Jun 2017
take me down,
down to the knee.
spill my blood,
smear me across
canvas. let me
bend like soft
wood, twine
my roots through
earth and body.
flood me like
waterfall, cascading
down the jutting
cliffs of your ever
sharpening body.
let me rise like mist,
disappearing
into cold dark sky
absorbed into
the atmosphere,
into the everything
and the nothing
where I belong.
ghost girl Jun 2017
her silhouette behind the shower curtain
her dress on the bed
she sings while she dries her hair
swears when she smears her
makeup

the shadows of her life are
all over this place
they mingle dissonantly
with mine

and yet I find her chaos
bleeding all over my order
to be the most beautiful
form of life
I've ever been
exposed to

and so this morning
instead of complaining about
the mess
I kiss her soft face
and she smiles
and everything is alright
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