Dead Days
My days are dead without you
oh my loves, my friends
my muses
How harsh is the sunlight
that awakens me each morning
from dreams of you
I've hit my nose hard
against the window pane
that separates our worlds
I am flightless without you
like paper cranes on a mobile
hung by the sliding door
I gesture towards the light
only to have the night
close its curtain on me
The cycle goes on
as days turn into nights
and nights turn into days
I sink deeper and deeper
into the eternity
of a life without you
Ghosted
You're dead to me
though I know you're alive.
I know you only in memory
and imagination.
You could have grown out
your schoolgirl's bob,
dyed it like a mermaid's mane.
Or made your brown eyes blue
with color contacts.
You must be somewhere
spreading golden wing glitter
you've withheld from me.
I am not certain,
for I have not seen your glory
with my own eyes.
So you are not real,
not anymore.
Just a ghost floating
through the many curtains
of my heart.
You're dead,
for you have deprived me
the gift of your presence.
Questions for Death
What are you wearing, oh dear,
that I could discern from afar?
A black cloak and black glasses?
Could I take a detour
around the shadowy corner
where you stand waiting?
Aren't you quite classy?
You wouldn't want to be branded
a stalker, would you?
Would you still pursue me
if I disguised myself?
Could you woo somebody else?
Would you please not tell me,
no, my love,
I will never let you cheat me?
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