Ghosts

There are ghosts that stir inside of her, 
shimmering and wraithlike. 

The desperate ways 
in which she’s mooned 
have craned and fused 
and become a part of her. 
They’ve since dissolved 
and left a hollow 
in their place. 

And though she knows 
they aren’t there, 
she feels them 
crushing, crushing, crushing 
all the same.
Without their heavy presence, 
she is left 
with an idle ache. 

Unable to separate herself from the ghosts, 
she will indulge in the sickly-sweetness of yesterday. 
She will enclave herself in the ghostly, glimmering fog, 
breathing sticky recollection 
that will cling to her lungs like ash, 
and smother her.