A cool gust of wind
In a once inhabited shell
Candles blown out
From a pair of ghostly lips
That feel ghoulishly similar
To the ones that once touched my own
Left in the dark
Like I was years before
Time and time again
Overwhelming fear is breathed into my lungs
Shivers climb down my back
As if traced by the delicate fingers of an apparition
From a past that haunts me
A voice murmurs in my ear
Sweet nothings a cruel reminder
Of a love that froze me in my place
Stepping one in front of the other
Turning around each pitch corner
Twisting hallways lead me to the darkest chamber in my heart
I look for myself in a pulsing mirror
But all I see
Is you

Oh, dear girl
How beautiful you are
How kind and colorful
I see your pain
I see the gashes underneath your clothes
The angry lines on your precious flesh
You burn your pain
Away into smoke
Crimson eyes
Not just from the tears
But from the blunt between your fingers
How I wish
To take your hurt
So you don’t grow up with faint white crosses
On your pretty limbs
You deserve to have your lovely smile
Displayed for all to see

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘.
I know,
But does my sickness
Eat me from the inside?
Does it,
Define me?
...
Yes.
Very much.
What are you going to do about it?

The beast ambles,
Slowly
Against the face of the cold,
Encroaching
Winter.
He pauses,
milky eyes turned upwards,
two pools of white
in which a pale,
smoldering
sky can be seen, reflected
like narcissist unto photo behind glassy frame.
He turns back,
Away from the cold,
And the howling, ashen sky
Towards home,
And orchard of writhing, wild apple.
Inside, it is warm.
He will wait out the winter,
perched in patched armchair,
ambling the slender halls,
wearing thin the lacquer,
on what may have once been
Glossy,
Youthful,
timber floor -
Growing fat off the fruit of autumn.