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Ghost

  • Writer: Nic
    Nic
  • Apr 4, 2022
  • 1 min read

His back is to me, half-cast in shadow.

Light lends depth, borrowed brilliance

filtering through the window; we can't

stay like this forever. I could follow him

into a future of caged songbirds & violins

strung with the guts of men who weren't so

mad before meeting us. What distinction

might be drawn between discovery &

dismemberment? I mind neither ruin

nor revelation, imagining myself immune

to the inherent loss of substance which

occurs with sharpening, picturing

partition as evolution. See how I

have grown, outgrown independence,

his praise and shaping sustenance

enough. I'm not a delicate flower

in need of light to bloom;

this isn't wilting, how I

bend, how I've broken--

Or I could watch him go

& fall in love with his

ghost.

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