a ghost once spoke to me,
that early morning in January.
and she was not ****** and pale and white
she was beautiful
like fireworks on new year’s eve

she told me lies
and whispers spilled from her pink, pink lips
a thirsty man got drunk on this
but i did not fall asleep
even when he vomited on the pavement.

because my favorite color is pink,
and the sun and the skies will never be pink
even when all the poets sing of it,
it will not turn cotton candy love

it is not my sister's lip gloss.

ghosts lie and they never appear
in the mirror behind you.
and she will never be ****** and pale and white

she will be beautiful.
and her lips are pink,
her cheeks are pink

i keep her in my late December night,
when I am white and pale and ******
i am drunk with her secrets
confessions of a ghost.

but i am not asleep.