There is a ghost lying next to youwhere you’ve replaced my body. There is a burning left at your chestwhere my hand would rest inside. There …
For months you passed through me
in the silent moments
before my sleep.
But still my chest
heaves helplessly for air
I was yours. You were wrong to never see that. To never claim it.
Each day we would meet beneath that willow tree.
Drawn to a boy who I knew, far down in the soul of me, was too far to grab and pull close enough to swallow.
the last of my mess.