Ghosts of the pasts

I hang upon this noose,

But it does not murder me.

All the shots fired,
The hail and embers surrounds me.


With your words;
With your intent;

I succumb into melancholia,
I enter my dementia,
I am lost and wander in memory;
Sickness turned into depravity,
Depravity unto beleaguered mentality.

Momentarily I am in my hell,
My brain defunct.
How do I miss you, where are you?

You are here.

But when I am with you,
I am empty and fulfilled,
Content and yearning at the same time.

I sure do miss you,
But I don’t want you.
Saudade, Nov ’15. Original,   June 2017, Edited, repost. 


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