if all things must pass, then why doesn’t your ghost abandon me too?
like a nebula blossoming out to the cosmos, i poured my soul to the milky way and heart to a made up destination, where, if i dare love something i am assured of its inevitable departure. in my hands, the heart feels like a loaded gun, ready to shoot new thorns in my sides.
who cuts deeper, the needle or the thread?
which do you feel more, the needle or its smooth and silky venom?
what burns deeper, the longing for you on humid, sticky nights or the cool emptiness on your side of the bed?

if all things must pass, then why won’t your ghost…pity me and vanish in the white hair of smoke, curling round the windowpane, it hung itself on the fog. i could go on about how vile you were, but its a list that has no end and have already fire to on the effigy of you in my mind, atop that pedestal. but so surely you would fall, one thing leads to another and i need the plates to stop flying and crash, breaking on the floor, and the television to stop playing static. it’s no use to cry over cracked china or black and white distortions if your cheeks are never dry.

liberate yourself, ascend to heaven.
deliver me, let me sink with my demons.