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.
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