Ghosts & Goblins
Ghosts whisper, waiting to be told
they can leave now. You have listened
all your life, all that you’re able
but never enough. Happiness
was a woman once beside you
who filled the sky with red devils,
wearing a moon-gown, all blue-haired
and breathless. The cemetery —
suddenly alive with zombies,
woodpigs, unicorns — exploded
like a stone. You’ve carried too long
those oft-rejected books, the past
a glass armor always failing.
You’re (nearly) naked with your grief.
How terrible to learn you’re loved
less than you reckoned, rarely missed
among friends. We live once only
to return and relearn each scar
from the start, the ghosts remind you.
The whispers sheathing like a knife.
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