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Apr 2019
the silence between us
is heavy, kind of like
the silence in a cemetery
between the widow and
the buried. home isn't
home anymore, and
you wash your hands -
try desperately to scrub
your skin of any remnant
of the feel of me,
watch the sink empty,
watch the water drain,
wishing it was you -
wishing it was the
idea of me in your mind,
wishing you were anyone
else, wishing i was anyone else.
and i wonder if anyone
else has felt you the way
i have, if anyone's body
will fill the hole I left
in your mattress,
the gaps in the closet,
the hollow in your chest.
i wonder how you miss me,
if you miss me in afterthought,
like misplaced things you've
given up on finding.
i wonder if you miss me
like the drowning miss air.  
i wonder how i settled
on you, in your mind -
the ache of a years old
injury? freshly opened
wound? thick, naked scar?
maybe i'm more like
the pain of a phantom limb
lost to disease - something
you'll always ache for,
something you know you'll
never be able to reclaim.
and there are nights when
i walk all the trails i walked
with you, stop at all our
spots. and i feel you, but
maybe it's just the ghost of you,
the ghost of us, when we still
loved each other in all the
right ways. other nights,
i sit on my porch rail,
watch the streets, watch
for the boy that loved me
once to come around the
corner, be the boy
who loves me still.
unholy ghost
Written by
unholy ghost
   brokenperfection and Scott
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