The Ghost of You

I drown myself in tasks, pour coffee five times a day, so even in those brief seconds, my hands are not idle, my mind not still. I raise the music to a scream, to drown the voice that gnaws, the voice that sounds like you. I write and write and write, so I do not reach for you, so my fingers find ink instead of absence. I do the things I do not wish to do, fill the silence with motion, but still you slip into my sleep, a ghost pressing its weight upon my chest.