not your ghost anymore

poetic_star's picture

*wrote this with my best friend.

Underground railroad tracks run
through this cowboy town and
your vulnerable heart,
splitting in half,
makes you groan whenever
I bury my face in your neck
and unbutton your shirt,
tracing circles around
your trans-Atlantic hipbones.

Caleb, you are splayed;
sometimes here with me,
other times, nowhere in
the foreseeable future of
our baseball swimming hole days,
and loving you isn't easy
or sweet like condensed milk
and holiday music playing
in a fireplace-lit room.

Like a ghost with vindictive fingers,
you paint a masterpiece on my spine;
your very own version
of a Mona Lisa's smile,
drowned in shades of black and blue.

But I still hold you down on my bed
beneath the lightning-cracked window
in my grandmother's house
and say I understand because
I do, to a certain point,
know what it's like to
be forced to chew your secrets,
swallow all the sharp edges
until there's no way anyone
can see them poking through your flesh.

But I hate it when you push me away,
stop my too-eager lips from trying
to find September in your chain link kiss.
If all the doors I held open for you and
the mini bottles of whiskey I stole
aren't enough to make you want me back,
then I've run out of time,
staring at a battered clock,
and you're not worth saving anymore.

I'm sorry, Caleb, but
I'm turning off the lights now.
All the southern belles have
gone home to their mamas
and low-life sisters,
battling over how many kids
they want to have
with someone like you but
I'm the only one who knows
that happiness isn't yours
and the sad part is
you'll never say "I do."

Trailer park hands tug at my belt
and mark my body with
notorious lust stains
but I only feel frustration and
emptiness when you
leave with a shake of your head,
mumbling something
about not needing to change and
why can't I just deal?
But this is the end of
my wishing habit.
Now I know not to expect
honesty to appear
in the jock-like form of Caleb
with graffiti eyes sealed shut
and sugar cube tears running
down a spoiled diary page
like blackbird wine trickling
down your lower lip.


Bosemaster42's picture


This does indeed sound like a break-up. Something that could have been....?

poetic_star's picture

yeah, I guess if the other

yeah, I guess if the other person were brave enough to be honest :(