The Ghost Inside of me

“There are ghosts inside me,” she said.

We were settled in, in a corner booth in a corner bar. music swaying in and out of the scattered chatter. Ian Noe on the radio and a mich ultra in my hand. Her sober eyes were a stark contrast to the broken vein, red eyed stare I was holding. Her lips didn’t smile but her staid steady gaze told me I was in. Someone said Nashville was too far away and we laughed, he was headed out to some wednesday gig in this nowhere town.

she looked away as I lit a smoke. swaying gently to the sounds of a southern summer night. Hints of Prine in the air. dancing through the cigarette smoke and the smiling faced locals.

there was graffiti on the wall and I scratched away at it as she sold her soul. Her story wasn’t different, dreamers dream dreams and you win or you lose.

Neither of us knew the outcome. But, tonight we had this corner booth, in this corner bar. With Ian Noe on the radio and her sober eyes staring into the wasted depths of my soul.

we both knew we would fuck. if not tonight some other time, in some other town.

She smiled at a stray from the bar, he licked his lips and adjusted himself. I watched the smoke swirling up and away from a Marlboro red. I needed a shot, I needed a line, I needed to lose myself. I ordered a Woodford on the rocks and drank it down steady and fast. two drinks in and another round. her hand was on my thigh. silently stroking my ego. I needed her ghosts inside me and i pulled her away. to seedy motel room in this sleepy town.

she fed my soul in a way I never understood. filled some odd void inside me.

we fell asleep to Cobain, her guitar scarred fingers stroking my skin.