A phantom sits at the edge of my bed, greeting me every morning
whispering to me as I sleep
The words they hum, contrived, their meaning escapes me
Yet I know, and I feel, and I see, and I taste their meaning; their bitterness
You haunt me
You haunt without repose
You haunt without reason
The soul we once created through the meshing of our hearts had flickered away long ago, as if a burnt out Jin
Yet here you impose upon me what’s long past
You sing me songs and tell me stories of a time I can no longer comprehend
And your words, as a saw blade, grind through me, turning my bedroom into little more than a tree mill
This torture, ceaseless
I toss and turn, but your voice does not escape the echo chamber of my head
Our love was a burden
Your love was a burden