Oh, I long to talk to some old lover’s ghost,
To learn a little bit of what it’s like to fly with angels,
So in love you think you see Heaven.
Oh, how I wish to see looks of love and malice-
So twisted and rotten that I can no longer tell the difference-
Hatred mistook for passion;
Guilt mistook for kindness.
Oh, how I ache steal another lover’s dreams,
And be visited by anything than our long-dead love,
But even with you buried, I find myself haunted.
And you know I cannot lie,
You were right,
I am nothing without you.
But I suppose I should find comfort in knowing you are now also nothing without me.
Perhaps that is why you visit me so-
To beg me to release you from this brick prison.
Oh, how you must know there is no place for you outside these walls.
And once I and this house are gone, there will be no one left for you to taunt.
pickpoetry 