For a man not dead, yet still a ghost
We are ghosts until the day
We materialise again
We cling clumsily to eachother
Like fraying rope or hessian
But after Christmas and new year
In returns the stabbing obsession
The annual longing for you and your praise
Your touch and your face
You haunt my dreams
You haunt my life
I know you won't be back
for another 363 days
yet I feel you
In poor, love-stricken daze
YOU ARE READING
ꕥ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 ℭ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 ℑ 𝔒𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔶 ꕥ
Poetrythis is just gonna be a book of poems I use to trauma dump lmao I probably won't update much but yh
