A rough draft between you and me,
swimming through the marrow of our bones.
The ink from our letters stain the carpet as I
fall through the lines of your misconceptions.
Your loneliness.  The ghost you encountered was that of false impressions.

I’m someone you want, but not really.

My veins fill with your realistic voice as I
breathe.
breathe.
breathe.
I am suffocating you out, ridding myself
of your syllables.

I’m someone you wanted, but not really.