You
I stare at the back of your head
Because I know that's where
The ghost of you made a bed.
My lungs feel blessed
Because they're no longer compressed
And my soul's been possesed
By a specter so pure
I'm convinced it's the cure
To all my sleepless nights
And all my tiny fights
Maybe a trip down your mind
Might heal mine
M.K
October, 2015.
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