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.