5 Seconds of Summer - One shots

Ghost of you - A. Irwin

TRIGGER WARNING - CANCER AND DEATH OF LOVED ONE

He would love to say that the lyrics match perfectly to his situation.

He wishes that it could be as simple as avoiding one side of the bed; if he could sleep at all.

The most sleep he could get is when the pain gets too much and he drinks himself dead to the world, or when the exhaustion gets too much and the lounge embraces him.

She was too young.

Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side.

He knew they needed one last song for the album, and he wanted it to be an homage to her. He figured the only way to transfer his pain, while still keeping hold of the personal memories was to dramatize a little.

If only it was a coffee cup with her lipstick stain.

Instead, it's a drunken decision and a kiss mark pressed to a napkin that resulted in lips that are tattooed onto his pectoral.
Right above his heart.

It hurts the most that the tattoo has started to fade. He has had it since they were 18, before he knew he loved her.

There's your coffee cup, the lipstick stain fades with time.
If I could dream long enough, you'd tell me I'd be just fine.

He would love to see her face in his dreams. If only he could hold her hand in his, have her fingers dance across his forearms like she would before. When she would calm him through panic attack, her bad days, or just whenever they were relaxing and listening to one of her many vinyls.

The same vinyls that would make him jump to his feet and pull her along with him as they dance through the house they shared.

So I drown it out like I always do,
Dancing through our house,
With the ghost of you.
And I chase it down ,
With a shot of truth.
Dancing through our house,
With the ghost of you.

The cancer took over faster than they expected. She was 23, too young to know pain like that.

He wanted nothing more than to take her pain away. He tried his best to help her through.
It hurts to unlock his phone and see his home screen.

It was after she made the choice to shave her hair off. She was always such a stubborn woman, she didn't want to let the cancer take her hair when she could do it herself.

His forehead is pressed to hers in the picture, a smile on both their faces. His old Led Zeppelin shirt swimming on her tiny frame.

The cancer took so much from her.

Cleaning up today found that old Zepplin shirt you wore when you ran away and no one could feel your hurt.

The same shirt she took her last breath in. The same shirt she asked to be buried in.

The long days at the studio helped to distract him, but the minute he arrives home and looks at the many pictures on the walls, he breaks down.

His back is pressed against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. He can still feel her touch, even though a year has passed.

For a long time he didn't know if he was capable of loving somebody as much as he loved her. He made her feel like no other had, despite how young they were.

Too young, too dumb to know things like love. I know better now.

It's hard to determine how long he spent with his hands pushed against his eyes, shoulder shaking with the sobs of a broken heart. If he tries hard enough he can almost see himself dancing with her through their house.

Waltzing up the halls, spinning her in their bedroom, swaying to the sound of Elvis in the lounge room.

So I drown it out like I always do.
Dancing through our house with the ghost of you.

Alcohol numbs the pain for a moment. The whiskey burning his throat warming his chest for seconds yet the pain aches through his chest cavity.

It shouldn't have been her. It should have been him.

She was too young. Too beautiful, inside and out. She was too pure. She deserved better.

Another sob rips from his chest and the glass of whiskey connects through the wall.

And I chase it down with a shot of truth.
That my feet don't dance like they did with you.