My doublewide is quite a Goth homestead

Spooky and unique, but, no, not to dread

     Three a.m. conversations

     Much spectral speculation

Hush! Get the **** out from under my bed !

I live in the skeletons of our love in hopes of having it stop haunting me.
          Its so hard to forget when you float around my head like a ghost
                          
                             its so hard not to go back to the graves of what                   was and not have to think about what is.

so, gather round where i
stand & listen:
THAT now by autumn's rumblin'
season; the world & Heaven's
army is moving forward, to
war.
All within my closed eyes:
dream if i could -- i would.
And now All is clear we're
all insane under rows of
personae's saber sharp-tooth'd
kiss and we, dear...are
bleeding beneath a lowering
curtain called, "The robe of
Ghosts."

:: 11-06-2016 ::

I fell apart today.
The anchor from which I'd cut away
suddenly reattached, twice as heavy as it had been before.
And I was completely imprisoned,
a heavy weight pulling down on my weary heart.
Like a silent film it hit me,
in jerky flashing, singular grey images;
indiscernible but sad.
A birthday cake.
Shiny smiles reflected from
clear cool sandy beaches.
Warm, cuddles after Christmas dinner.
And these ghosts of us haunt me always
down every familiar street,
every memory, every story, every jewel
adorning the crown that is my life
is haunted with ghosts of us.
Not the us limping, and wounded, and beaten by life,
holding on to those beautiful images.
Eyesight fading, changing at least.
No, the wide-eyed kids who became one that first night
and ignited a fire that burned,
for a quarter century.
A beautiful, perfect, copy-read family.
Nobody forgetting their lines.
And one day I reached out to touch you
And your skin felt cold.   Still soft, but cold.
And I knew immediately that I need to cling
to those beautiful images.
And capture new ones,
sharper and more vibrant
with years of progress, and learning.
Loving and gentle with the images of the past
but steady and strong
against the unforgiving winds of time
from  every direction.
“We built her strong”,
I tell myself.
"We sure ******* did"
Perhaps, we built her too strong
She’ll never sink,
but she’s not fit to sail.
Leave her where she is, to the salt,
and the sea,
and the rust, the ******* rust.
The anchor, still fastened tightly
but choking my heart no more.
Instead holding me fast,
against the current, and the winds,
and the ghosts of us that haunt me
each and every day.

the ghosts are back again
constantly knocking at the front door
begging to be let in
they say they miss me and my tired eyes
my tear stained eyes
my heartbroken eyes
they say they want to move back in
to make a home inside of my chest
they say they will keep me warm
keep me from being alone
they plead with me to unlock the door
so we can be together once more
but i will listen to the constant knocking
allowing it to lull me to sleep
for a new day will rise and the ghosts will sink away
and i will be happy

After clenching my theeth behind the ghosts that are meant to be radiantly fibrant in color, I inhale every part of them while they creap like smoke to the very corners of my lungs. Nothing else but dust that rises when they are retracing your steps, slowly reaching for my heart. With each pass they are rumbling up the dirt, on their way to what is left, of the war that has taken place in an oh so warm safe haven ~or heaven when it were your feet wandering through my paradise garden of life. Where now the comfort is long gone in memory and all that is left are the broken fragments of once perfectly shaped clouds in front off a crystal blue sky ~that turned to dark matter in a bodemless ocean where you let me fall in to, without any last words of lost whispers, to never let me resurface to the land of loving and what is now keeping me in a forever limbo of you-and me holding on to myself while drowning again tonight.

Succumbing to ghosts of lustful past
Knowing that my soul will be price
Falling further into beauty of our chaos

Baby, I love the way you take it slow
You are the angel at my door and
The devil within me, taking all control

We both know how this will end
Yet, we push on; falling victim to our past
Lonely ghosts reappearing on algid night.

Walking the streets from
midnight to early morning,
is not unlike walking through
a graveyard at dusk.
You can see the ghosts of peoples day.
You can hear the echo of their voices.
You can feel their presence.
While stalking the streets
you pass under the fog
clouding around hazy street lamps,
look into dark windows,
and you’re as good as alone.
Breath leaves your mouth,
swimming around you like
the smoke of a cigarette.
The faintest glimmer of life
echos the streets you wander.
The silence screams louder
than your own thoughts.
You wonder what it would be like to die,
would you stay a ghost on these streets?