It is you who are ghosts,

you who pass through me,

oblivious, and are gone.

 

I am here. I am solid.

Cells of my own blood

sank into that concrete.

 

It was my last heartbeat

that echoed, indelible,

across the geometries of pavement,

walls, windows.

 

I am still here.

I am still here.

 

It was you who were unseen

in darkened rooms.

I can’t forget you.

 

Your invisible eyes

heart-burnt me

as I met them that night,

 

my head locked back

by the blade’s cold touch

against the tautened whte skin

where, once, he had kissed me,

 

in those clear, clear moments.

You were haunting me.

 

 

 

A sort of follow-up to https://lewispoetrygrotto.wordpress.com/2013/08/13/0316/ …the same story told from the victim’s side. The idea that the living are the ones who haunt the dead is a great one with all sorts of possibilities and potential in it; Ghosts doesn’t make the most of it by any means and the ‘cold blade’ stuff is a bit B-movie thriller by numbers for me now, but I kinda like it just the same. It’s a keeper up to the last 6 lines, loses the plot a bit then comes good right at the end. In fact I think that might be the most satisfying last line I ever came up with!

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