one.

a light remains on in the middle of the night in a bedroom, through a window, sorrow turns to blight the mind of a ghost who has not yet expired but yet longs for it, misses it, after eternal months tired.

death stands in the corner and waits for the letter twice folded, crumpled edges, for the ghost is a fretter. a mess on the floor and a chill in the bones; the bed creaks, the dog snores, the ghost shifts and moans.

the faucets are dry and the pillows are wet, not with water or with tears, but soaked in regret for a life never lived, a youth thrown away - how hard for a shadow to live another day.

#poetry