Ghost.

The broken swingset you left in my heart

Rocks carelessly through the breeze,

Like a hopeful ghost of a child,

Constantly picking at the rusted seat,

Still wet from the morning rain

I watch as it swings thoughtlessly,

Uncaring and solemn.

Like a broken memory.

I don’t feel anything.

I can feel everything.

I feel alone.

I feel as if the world should stop talking already.

I feel as if a great silver chandelier,

Lit with flames that bite at my empty soul

Has torn itself away from it’s high perch

Plummeting downward,

Rushing to meet my weary face.

Crashing into a body

That is already beaten.

Already dead.

I imagine death would be peaceful.

Or anything but.

I imagine the chaotic rush of air clawing through my body,

Heaving me up to the mighty sky,

Before drowning my body in a pool of flame.

Carefully weighing me,

Judging whether to condemn, or free me.

I would reminiscence.

I would remember what cannot be forgotten.

The tingle of your soft palm

The feel of your hand,

As you purged my mind with emotion,

The weight of my soul being lifted,

As you skipped my heart across a calm lake.

The swingset has stopped swaying.

The breeze is still flowing through the moonlit valley,

But the swingset,

A defiant outcast to this world,

Glows a resilient white

Before fading into a frightful ocean.

That holds both memories and pain.

Fortified with the hazy fog that comes with forget.

Locked and chained.

As it sets off to sea,

My head instinctively turns in a new direction.

The hazy fog sets in.

Gently and slowly,

I forget what I had once been yearning for.