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there are days the sun
captures me, pulls me back
into life and I feel it in every
cell of my body, light and
warmth and life.

and there are days I am
desperate for the ground to
open up and swallow me,
to blink out of existence,
for the planet to turn
without me on it.

the sunny days are few
and far between. I spend
far too much time with my
feet firm on the ground
waiting for departure.

I'm so afraid the time will
come where the sun isn't
enough anymore, and I won't
be enough anymore and
I'll give up waiting
for the departure and
leave by myself.
the ghosts in the attic
play melodies on the piano,
something about how
love will always end
in destruction, either in life
or after death.

they tell us stories of the
ocean, how she can carry a
ship yet slip through your fingers,
how she kisses the shores,
yet she's always in pull
to the moon.

the ghosts in the attic tell
us how your soul will always
be bound to the places that
harmed you the most, how you
will move through walls but
you'll always sink right back
to the stain on the carpet.

they tell you to learn how to be
good with your hands, to paint
the love you feel on every canvas
you touch, to carry a heart gently
but know to make a fist when needed.

they tell us how they lived and
died in agony, how they watch
the living do the same. how the cycle
repeats itself, how the ghosts
in the attic become us,
how we become them.
unholy ghost Sep 25
it's okay.

I will play the villain on your stage
because I know how often you've
painted yourself in that role.
I'll swallow your poison, your
guilt, your anger because I know
how hard it is for you to taste
your own pain, how hard it is
for you to pick apart the threads
that have sewn you together.
it's like defusing bombs -
I saw you try, I saw your work,
saw your explosions, saw how
much more difficult the recovery became.

I was a bomb too. one that you tried to
hard to pick apart, to turn into a garden,
to make home instead of wreckage.
I know you didn't mean to. I know
you love hard, you love like a man picked
into pieces, like a boy who never stopped
bruising his own hands on the concrete.
you blew us to bits, and it's okay. I blew
us to bits too. you snipped the wrong
wire, the one that held me together, and
we fell apart. we took down whole
cities. we were never going to diffuse,
not like that, not together, not when
we were both tiptoes on over the edge.

I wish I'd met you later. when our
ticking time bombs had finally
run out the clock. when we'd managed
to clean up the debris. when we were
different, our wounds healed. not
fresh, not bleeding like they had been.
like they still are. when we were older.
better at cutting wires.

it's okay. I forgive you. I hope one day
you'll forgive me too.
unholy ghost Sep 25
home is a hollow,
carved into the carcass
of buildings that once
held life, held love, held light.
hid myself away in the
crevasses; too deep to
really see, close enough
to the surface that they
eyes would still catch
the outside light.
found me in the reflections
and refracted silhouettes.
saw the ghost of the girl
trapped between then and
now, there and here.
tried so hard to coax her
out, save her, set her free.
the thing about saving
ghosts sewn into the darkness
is that they're more siren
than shade, and they'll
drown you in their darkness
before you ever even notice
the thinning of the light.
unholy ghost Sep 23
swallow the metal of my bones
because the taste of their weight
is a recipe from your own hands.
severed the paper thinness of my
skin because you wanted to taste
the nerves, learn the taste of my
undoing.

I am nothing now.
I am the spare parts
you didn't care for.
unholy ghost Sep 22
the hurt you gave
the hate you carry
the mess you made
the lies you taste
the story you tell
the guilt you swallow

poison me,
paint me the villain
because it suits
your pain  

I have become your
worst masterpiece
your ache,
your undoing.

shade me if you must,
leave yourself the wounded
while you hold the knife.
tell your lies, but you'll always
know the truth.
unholy ghost Sep 22
the click, the hands, the mouth,
the heavy taste of the liquor
and the heavy weight of the drugs
I never intended to be the grenade
but you never handled me gently
enough to prevent explosion

and in the wake of y(our) carelessness,
the ringing, the shell-shock,
we forgot our names, how
they sounded in each other's mouths.

you tried to hold on, I know, but
my hands hurt too much not to
let go.
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