Vibrant mitochondria.
Stretching from the dark.
Action a bad idea.

Memory haze.
Into the fiery depths.
I grudge on in chains.

More than a life.
Pine trees ask where she is.
Miserly moving through most nights.

A kind idiot asks "why?"
Without future, I need no past
To where desolation lay, I do not shy.

Here we find her grave.
Onerous and false.
Where I remember and find what to save.

So, my personal ghost.
The real one is out there living her life.
Seems you still want to play host.

My former love, what shall we write today?