I take my family photo albums
And pin those ghosts down to the walls
I keep running to my past trying my best to bring it back to life
always thinking “there’s a real life haunting.”
when I see myself any younger than 19
I take my family photo albums
And try to pin down your love
as if I’ll be able to see the warning signs
if it’s been written on the walls
I keep running back to my past like an old wives tale  
half told truths slipping through hands
and passing from mouth to mouth
Landing on my dinner plate filling it all the way up
I take my family photo albums
and wonder “why is it?”
I do not recognize who is staring back
I keep running back to my past
trying to find out everything about who I am

- I've been trying to find clues about who hid me away

Foreign bodies with foreign bodies,
unknown hands with unknown hands,
we said we are in love together,
but we don't know where we stand;
such is the torture
of ghosts loving ghosts,
you never dared to tell me who you were,
nor I shared with you who I am.

Look at us now,
just two shadows in love,
no wonder when the two converged,
they slipped right through each other.

Your face seems to be all I see
whenever I close my eyes.

why does he haunt me?
a ghost of love we never truly had,
how could I miss it?
You?
..him?

Memories flash through my head
like daggers to the chest.
Wounding me seemed to be the target
before our first encounter.
To gaze, unbothered,
at something so innocent
while envisioning
how to bring me to my knees.

did I love you? or did I love the idea
of you loving me?
I’ll never truly know
because you are a ghost
of my past.

and ghosts don’t answer questions.

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, have a great July!


goodness is virtue
rage is essence when realization is new
hearts entrenched
them those called sensations melted a bench

memories tainted in dark
reminiscent somewhere in the background park
violins ached for the winter sky
on a hope it would just snow the ghosted July

their flesh burnt
mercurial whispers churned a hurt
dilapidates already fallen
feels of away returned from the stolen

wise in me I confess
to not believe a belong is a bless
visions confuse
perplexed deprived of a twinkle muse

my pen writes
then paper welcomes once and thrice
orchestra chimes
in time to spill the wine

                                                                                           ------ravenfeels

leave me in the garden to die.
i will not let you save me-
leave me alone with the dead leaves of autumn,
with the coldness of winter settling in my bones.
i don't want to be saved-
leave me along the dead and decayed
and come back to bury me in the spring.
i have left to find death,
to pick it's flowers and to finally rest.

haunt me long
after you
fade from me