It breathes memories into my charcoaled lungs
The calluses on my palms
The ever lingering self doubt following my every step
Its heart beats in the herb garden on my balcony
Pulses through my broken alabaster skin
And quakes in the grooves of my cracked ribcage
It sleeps on the folded fitted sheets in my cabinet
Stirring restlessly at the smell of stale beer and fresh tobacco
It awakens with a jolt whenever it smells blood
Its stretching into my pinned back colony hair
Weaving its way through the secret stories
Into eardrums saying "you must **** yourself to get out"
This ghost of my family
Whispering commands into my ears
I am only now hearing it's voice
Because I always believed it was mine
This goodbye is not reconciliation with the voices
It is a resurrection of my own.