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The haunting of ms erica court. 1:37 a.m. 2007-01-25 You sigh in and out of me like past tense letterwriting in shades of midnight and hauntings. You are my exhalations. Drift in and out of focus like footsteps tumbling between gray shapes and ghosts that won't forget. When i wake up, you lift from my eyelids after 3 hours dreaming and i pretend that i am with you. Fading twilight cuts through smoke like lasers do and i've been trying not to remember you but you shiver with me when its cold and our past is my newest winter jacket. You shatter like frost when i run and whisper like wraiths over my night's end. And sleeping is like being with you. My eyes are getting dull, they tell me, turning gray and dead and i think its from imagining old photographs too much. Gazing over glazed history and placing you square in frame by my side, i can almost see the way the dust dances over your hair and how the corners of that picture are starting to crack. My words are getting old, that's what they say, that they're catching stopgaps in my throat and hollowing out a second too late. I think its from praying old conversations like hail mary's and chanting i miss you's like mantras into snowstorms. Weather patterns blanket us all and i am pleading my prayers into cloud formations to carry me. Pillars of nothing to build my memories on and its like fires silouhette your visage and its like catching glimpses of you on the farside excavation of passing trains. Past tense letterwriting and vaguaries of form can't tell it like i wish i could. So to all of you who haunt me. I miss you. back & forth |