a statistic
RIP
don't know how;
i go from mourning to night,
(a quick little flight)
but i come back down

mutually taken
give away before - what - the poison reached,
was it even wanted?

revisiting the place it started;
the smell of the stale air of that room, still holds dear

open 24 hours
like i was for you,
both time and heart.

where did you go?
you were just here
where you even here,
sad ghost i loved?
did i?

the answer will not be found
nor should it ever be.

but i still fell your calming hand on my back,
lofting.

still haunting, like the beginning;
however, a new way.

less alive,
truly ghosting.