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labyrinths Nov 2013
i.
your teeth chatter and the wind hits your face.
you can no longer feel your hands or legs.
something about frostbite floats around your mind.
and while your head is screaming, go home
your legs are screaming, left, right, left, right.

you remember walking this way from school.
when your sister would pick you up and walk with you.
or when your "best friend" would make you take the long way
so you could walk her home.

you remember trying to climb that tree
to impress a couple of kids
in hopes that you would become friends.
you remember falling
and the shrill laughter of "never never friends"

you remember sitting in that field
and writing poetry
about the dogs that passed.

you remember playing in that park
with a girl you thought
you'd be friends with forever.
you remember sitting on the swings
while your mom talked to other moms
about what it was like to be a mother.
you remember sliding down the slide,
playing in the sand,
and the reluctance to go home.

ii.
you find yourself in His neighborhood.
you still remember the exact way to His house.
how could you not?
you are still smoking.
you imagine the smoke hitting His face.
He would be shocked, if only He could see you now.
what He made you.

you stop by His house.
you remember the path across His house that would lead you to school if you followed it.
you remember the tree next to His house where He poked a wasp's nest.
you remember His backyard, how you would build forts and He would always win.
you remember His living room, blanket forts where you would tease you until you cried.
you remember His mother and her patronizing smile.

there are christmas lights.
you wonder which room is His.
you wonder if His house still looks the same.
you wonder if He remembers what He did to you.

how He touched you
even though you said no.
how He told you that you wanted it
even though you said you didn't.
how He told you that you needed him
even though you knew you didn't.

He is a ghost now, just like the rest of this neighborhood.
and you know if you stay long enough
the ghosts will take it as an open invitation
and come out to play.

iii.
you keep walking.
you put the cigarette out.
you think you're lost until you find a familiar looking building.
you walk towards it.
you realize it's the church across from your elementary school.

ah, elementary school.
remember how they broke you?
remember how they called you names?
remember how you tried to **** yourself?
remember all the friends you didn't have?

you can see the ghosts, now.
the school is filled.
your legs are moving towards it.
you remember the nightmares you had about this exact place last week.
you take pictures.
you try to catch a demon on film.

you have lost all control of your legs.

this is where you told ghost stories about the old lady that lived in the forest behind the school.
this is where you made a pact that you would be friends for life.
this is where that kid told that teacher he was death when he meant to say deaf.
this is where you sat under the playground and laughed so hard you peed.
this is where you showed them the scars on your wrist.
this is where they rolled their eyes and called you "attention seeking".
this is where she told you every lie they'd ever said about you.
this is where you sat when you told them you were going to **** yourself tonight.
this is where you bled and everyone saw.
this is where you broke.

this is where you became who you are today.

iv.
the anxiety is killing you.
you light another cigarette.
you hear voices and a bark.
you make a left.

down the road is the fence you kicked your show over in the second grade.
you wonder if you should thank them for returning your shoe or not.
you don't.

you walk towards her house.
the last time you were here was halloween in grade nine.
you were dressed as the mad hatter.
being chased by some guy dressed as michael myers.
trying to figure out who you really are.

she became someone completely different less than a year later.
she had been telling people she wished your best friend would **** herself.
she got into drugs.
she was always too good for you, anyways.

you want to knock on her door and ask how she's doing.
you wonder if she remembers you.
you don't.

v.
you walk past His best friend's house.
he has bright, shining lights, too.
christmas spirit.

you wonder if he still lives there or not.
you remember the way you went to daycare together.
the three of you.

you were never close with him.
he was into hockey and more attractive girls.
by the time He transferred out of your school, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
he forgot all about you.

he started dating girls in grade one.
he started cursing in grade five.
he had kissed a girl by grade eight.
she thought she was in love with him.
he had no idea what love meant.

he still plays lacrosse with Him.
he talked to you about Him, sometimes.
he told you how He was doing, how much he hated Him.

at least the two of you had that to talk about.

vi.
you are almost home.
you check your phone.
four missed calls.
three unanswered texts.
where r u?
you turn off your phone and put your hands in your pockets.

you're walking down the same path you would during school.
you remember the way the boy you had a crush on would tease you as you walked home.
he lived on your street.
he would call you names.
you told yourself it was only because he liked you.
he didn't.

the two of you used to be best friends.
you played in the park together.
you had matching walkie talkies.
he came to all your birthday parties
and you went to all of his.

until you weren't cool enough.
and that was that.

you still see him sometimes.
you don't exchange a hello or even a smile.
you act like he doesn't exist.
he does the same for you.

you wonder if he feels as guilty as you do.

vii.
you are home, but you are not alone.
you've returned with your own ghost.
she is whispering in your ear how you have become
everything she would be ashamed of.

she wanted to be a veterinarian.
she wanted to be thin.
she wanted to be pretty.
she wanted to be smart.
she wanted a boyfriend.

you are unemployed.
you are overweight.
you are ****.
you are dumb.
you have a girlfriend.

she is dead and you are the only one to blame.
because you killed her.
A Sad Alex Aug 2018
It follows me around you know
Maybe it never really left
It hangs around the air, light as a feather
But it´s presence, heavy as a weight.

As I sit on the bus, an empty seat at my side
It sits, it looks at me, and it stares...
And my mind is flooded with thing we used to do
Things of lovers: to kiss, to hug, to lose myself in you
To show you my affection, to show you I cared.

As I go out to take a walk, it walks by my side
It matches my speed, no matter how slow or fast
And my heart weighs heavy with things I could have done
Tell you I love you, being there for comfort
So much time wasted, never to return.

As I lay in my bed, it lays by my side
Perfectly still, just outside of my grasp
And our future banishes in front of my eyes
Our home, our family, our lives intertwined
It tears me apart, as I begin to cry.

It follows me around, but I can´t leave it behind
The ghost of you, it haunts me day and night
The mistakes I made… The errors of my ways…
I pay for dearly, every single day
Loneliness follows me, and it has your shape…
Hopefully you guys enjoy this one, I felt a bolt of inspiration to write this, and that is one of the best feelings on Earth for me, to just pour yourself on a poem.
Knit Personality Apr 2016
The friendless needn't ever be friendless:
Their pool of potential friends is endless.
The lonely person living sadly
Should buy a board from Milton Bradley,—
A board for playing games with ghosts
Who roam in search of gaming hosts.
It’s guaranteed they’ll find a friend
Where worlds collide and mix and blend.
A little cruel…or maybe a lot…
They’ll find a friend as sure as not,—
A sticky friend who wants to share
A living body, blood to hair.
The lonely person living sadly
Should buy a board from Milton Bradley.
If properly used, they’re sure to receive
Friendship from something that never will leave.

O.O
Knit Personality Sep 2016
A family of ghosts
  Are there inhabited.
The tainted dwelling hosts
A family of ghosts.
The tainted dwelling roasts
  With freezer burn the dead.
A family of ghosts
  Are there inhabited.

O.O
Lizzy Jun 2014
Grayness swells and burns as ice
Coldness fills hollow creeks
My mindless ghost of a shell
But drifts ever so quietly

Ghostly shells as mine
Follow the current
Follow the breeze
Too weak to fight
To swim upstream

Now I am told the sun returns
But will it return without help?
Without artificial dawn?
Will this dusk be everlasting?
Never reaching devil's hour
And never returning to shiny morning

My ghost ever mourning
A loss of some unfamiliar friend
Sick for a home that has never existed
I forever dwell on my oscillating waking
lX0st Oct 2015
I miss you deeply
When you're not around
An absent touch
An empty sound
It could just be an hour
It could just be a day
Still, it hurts my heart
To be away
Maybe the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written.
M Eastman Aug 2015
Cup your palms around
that candle dear lazy
Spells to cast to the wombs
keep our ghosts outside
peering into tent *****
yellowing irises and
stamens strangely swaying
but nonsense
Butte no
out there
they stalk you dear lazy
Knit Personality Oct 2016
The seer of the dead will see
Hanging around the hanging tree
A lot of ghosts with broken necks:
The spot whereat they died they vex.

O.O
ju Apr 2015
Mum had been gone a couple of months, six I think… (An ordinary day. Feeling hollow but doing OK) …when I realized I could get rid of the sofa.

I thought it was ****. She thought it was a bargain. A sofa’s not a keepsake and it was certainly no heirloom. I’d not inflict it on my kids. I got rid.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. Even if it meant keeping the sofa.

Redecorated. Bought a new telly. Spent frivolous amounts of cash on scatter cushions. She disliked scatter cushions. I thought they were cosy.

My little boy drew on one of the cushions. On purpose. I was about to smack the back of his legs… (Mum would have. She smacked me when I was little) … but I stopped.

I never wanted to. I had known all along, somehow forgotten.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. But she would not smack my children.

Mum had been gone a year… (Planting bulbs. Feeling conspicuous carrying a shovel ‘round the churchyard) …and I missed her .

It was as hot as the day she died. There was no breeze up on that hill. No cloud. Beautiful views stretched right out to the sea.

My little boy had grown. He helped carry water and dig holes. My baby was learning to walk. She wobbled on uneven turf between the headstones. I wanted Mum to see.

If I could’ve had her back then? I would’ve done. No question.


Mum had been gone three years… (Bulbs were doing OK. There was nothing left to plant that rabbits wouldn't nibble) …and I realized it was time to move on.

I kept the ghosts quiet while agents showed people round. The house sold. We moved away. A warm, terraced place in a small town by the sea. Dad died.

Mum has been gone eight years and I miss her.

Looking out from the Downs across cliff-top and sea, the churchyard seems nothing more than a soft-grey fleck on the green edge of town.

If I could bring her back now? Everything’s changed.

Ghosts exist. They sit in empty chairs and speak kettle-whistle. Wishing us well.
Marci Mareburger Jan 2015

Every line is about who I don't wanna write about anymore.
Marci Mareburger Jan 2015

Why won't you leave me like you want to?
David Hutton Oct 2017
The motion that is an echo of you
are the ghosts that bear resemblance to you.
Bardo Mar 2018
The house was haunted
The family fled
They couldn't find the priest
So they got me instead.

I read aloud my poems
Full of sorrow and pain,
About dreary things
And nearly going insane.

"My Gawd", the ghosts cried
" This is fierce gloomy stuff,
I thought we were bad
But this, Enough! Enough! "

Well they wailed and they shrieked
And they wailed some more
Then holding their ears
They ran out the door.

Even ghosts they desert me I thought
After they'd gone
They'd never even heard of a sorrow
   so deep
Or a pain as sharp as mine.

I sat there all alone in the silent house
With not a whisper, no! not a mouse
When all of a sudden there came
   something strange
A little sound like that of slow trickling
   water.

"Have you something to say to me
   House", I asked
"Before I up and leave you forever",
The little sound, it stopped all at once
   and looked up
As if very surprised at having been
   discovered.

I rose to leave
But quickly turned back amazed
When from down & out of the
   chimney
Crept this little voice so slight & warm
   & tender.

" Forgive me Sir", it said,
"But I could contain myself no longer,
That little sound you hear, the tiny
   trickle
Is but the teardrops from my eyes
   dripping

Such a pain and sorrow as yours
I never heard before
Those anguish drenched words
They seeped through my walls right
   into my heart

They pierced me deeply,
Yea, they pretty near tore me apart,
I'll remember you Sir when you're
   gone
I don't think I could ever forget you".

I listened and was sorely moved
"Thank you House ", I said, "thank
    you, thank you kindly"
And turning again at the front door
"Goodbye House, look after those
   who'll live here, won't you".

Outside the birds, they were singing
And up in the sky, the sun
The sun, it was shining.
This started out as a joke but then went somewhere else. Hope you enjoy & Happy Easter.
Left Foot Poet Mar 2018
at 11pm in nyc
one sees what
you need to c
what you don’t want to b
what’s c-ing you
all the aleph bets
are ghosting words in your
brown i’s and clear fingernails

then when and why
you are under the
dining room table
cause you don’t want to be
a real person
it’s so oh much easier to be
in the under, the table dark thunder,
so when until you need to be a visibility,
until then a ghost is a fine impossibility

do we believe in ghosts?
girl, you crack me up
W ooooohoooo W you who?

11:16pm
the witching wishing h our
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
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.
veritas Aug 2018
red stains, fading, cracked, scented

     if i kissed your prints, would they kiss me back?

sighs, thoughts, spaces between prints

     spaces between words, between parted lips and floating thoughts the world! is so crowded with space but yours is the one i want to fill .

     but where are the lines? lines of loss, lines of lawns, lines of ink and rips and more stains and letters, in the hands and on the pavement

where are the lines?

why won't you go there?

why do you hover in these foul, indomitable spaces? why do you seek that which you should not?

     if the shadow of lines slinks in your quiet expression, then why are you still here?

     if the echo of your soft face lingers in my hands, if the whisper of your breath and the heat of your skin still singes my own, then why do you disappear?

lovely wraith, lovely memory of a thing that once was, why do you sit so alone?

because i am coming to your space, and if you can see me, of shadow and fog, then i will meet you there,

     on a line of our own.

>because it's a death premeditated and i can see it unfolding,

     sharp wounding painful

and the discourse in the sky is telling me so, yet why do i keep walking west?
lots of questions (this isn't a poem of answers. don't look for one).
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