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sepulchre
I am not a ghost,
though I live in yesterday’s house
and hide myself in yesterday’s clothes.
the shadow on the mantle
is nothing supernatural.
simply sleight of hand
and twist of words.
there is room for me no longer.
I lay on slabs
built from past experiences
and stare at a sky so full of stars
that it seems not even worth grasping.
these lights are not for me.
there is nothing that can awe me now.
still, I crave the silence,
not the lonely moments filled with loathing,
but the time spent solitary.
I am a domino poised to fall,
though I clamor and stretch and boast,
to assure those around me that
there is no danger here.
if I fall, let it be.
let me lie in this abandoned chamber
entombed in words I’d said
a thousand and one times over.
perhaps in peace,
I can find the truth that
so eludes me.
I am not a ghost,
but I live no longer.