Moving on...

I was supposed to move on.

But here you are, standing in the back of my mind, 

No matter the direction, your face lingers in the trees 

Beyond the morning calls of birds 

In the walking breeze with the leaves. 

I imagine an unknown hand that you hold 

The thought of hope—turns cold, 

Transparent and iridescent, thickets weep, 

My banshee screams as little pieces of me die, 

Wondering if the cries of sirens 

Keep you breathing in the bottom of a bottle? 

If each cut increases 

Leaving trails of my feelings 

Flatlining my speech 

Your face in the books 

Bloodletting reason, 

Drowning your sorrows, numbing what was left behind. 

I photo your face, at that stupid party, with your stupid friends. 

A budding wallflower wilting with each drink. 

Impaired & emotionally vagrant, 

A squatter of your soul, a mistake totally wasted. 

Blurred in the background, swarming in pseudo 

This daydream increases into a nightmare on a ventilator.

Pumping your conscience 

Convulsing each problem 

As the nights grow longer 

With each blink, I think, that these thoughts... 

Are left to the slaughter. 

You're just a ghost, only there when you're needed, 

A phantom soul, dead to feeling. 

I did everything I could do to be at peace with myself. 

Dispensing each thought, 

While their loneliest nights blipped along new days 

Reassessing the damage 

Finding certainty in dying alone. 

Screen clicking thru yesterdays. 

Reels of poetry ping. 

Worded memories inoculate themselves. 

Nostalgia on old shelves. 

TV trays, plastic plates–

The screen: Mid-Century. 

Home was in each heartstring 

Stepping away, plucking each heartbeat. 

Those movements of you once in dreaming. 

Stretching on as yesterday's plight.