You are the phantom
Burned into the images in my mind.
You are the twisted, torn up pages
That I tear out of journals
When the words just aren’t quite right.

Oh what do you do
When you’re the one
Who made the river flood?

What do you do
When you’re the one
Who brought pain to so many?
I cannot go back.

I found your pipe tonight,
Searching for my lost words.
It fell out of your coat pocket,
I remember watching you pack the tobacco in
Just moments before you left us all.

I hope you know what you did for me.
Taking me in.
Giving me a home on your ship.

I hope you know how grateful I was
That you sat out here,
Packing your pipe
As I broke down and cried

And I still remember
How you put your hand on my shoulder
And cried with me.

Oh those long nights,
Spent with the wind in our face
And the sun hiding from us
I remember the laughs that we shared
I remember the wisdom that you gave me.
I remember how on those nights
Where the pain was too much
I tried to hide my face
For I was ashamed to feel.

I was supposed to be better.

Wasn’t that the point of this?

At least that’s how I felt,
When I had you to lean back on.
When I had my captain at my side.

Filling my head with how to be wise.
But you’re not here anymore.
Your voice is fading from my mind.

I was supposed to start feeling okay, soon.
I was supposed to let go of you.
Wasn’t that the point of this?

Or did I have much more sinister plans?

With a head full of memories
And a glass full of ***
I sit down alone
And visions of you start to run
Through my head.

“Death is not evil,” a voice echoes through my head,
“It is a promise that cannot be broken,” it continues.

“You cannot stop me.”

The voice carries on into the night.

And what then? She asks me,
But I think she suspects
That it falls on deaf ears.
But I am silent, to reflect.

And so she asks again.
“And what then?
What will you do when there is nothing else to lose?
What will you do when you push away every single person who loves you?”
I down the last of my drink and get up to leave before sternly asserting the only thing that I know is true anymore.
“I’ll finish the job.”
I close the door and leave.

As I age,
I begin to realize
My own mortality.
And I realize,
I do not care.

I think it’s November
But I can never quite remember
All I know is that my bones
Are tired of praising an empty throne
And the light that’s never known
Will never illuminate my home.

Please tell me where I went wrong.