The haunting

a work in progress

what haunts me

is not the grey skies

around your eyes

or the forgotten bike

(a gift)

rusting in the rain

over summer

that dreams of hill decscents.

what haunts me

is not consent

but it's thief;

an imperfect mind

ground into submission -

time, both mortar and pestle

in which the soul dissolves

into the groundwater

suffocating in the membrane

between techtonic plates.

no, what haunts me

is remembering

that I forgot

you

us

before

& why.

Reviews

[Emily B]

Old ghosts and nightmares and feelings that won't be pinned down to the paper. They make us more real.

[Samith Pich]

Our conversation inspired this poem :)

[Emily B]

That is the best thing I've inspired in a while