I saged the room,
but the ghosts keep vaping,
blowing rings of blame
with burnt-out coils
and Irish Goodbyes.
They keep telling me to calm down
while rearranging my furniture.

I dream of strangers' hands,
too much of a stranger to know
what to leave behind,
pressing my grief
into neat little boxes.

I keep forgetting which ones
hold his name
and which ones hold mine.
The world spins without me,
the shadow I left behind
frozen in place.

I thought closure was a door,
but it’s a hallway with no exit,
the same door I keep slamming
in my own face.
Empty rooms painted
in the bluest regret.