i am a ghost story
a glass half full shattered on the floor
a dusty attic holding feeble bits of memories
memories like you and i firecracker fighting
being daydream drunk in the middle of the afternoon

i am weak
i cannot bear the weight of your eyes upon my body and so i breadcrumb crumble
ashes to dust
dust to ashes
onto your dank cement floor
and i see you thinking that if you clean it up fast enough no one will see what you are capable of