How I am supposed to stop thinking about it all?
I open the window to let in the air, at night,
Still see you lit by the moon and the streetlights,
Still smell the leaves outside of your bedroom window,
Still feel the sweet air, hear the tires sliding against the streets,
Feel warmth, next to me, with me, for just a second.
I plug the lights in, at night.
I think too much, in the dark, you know.
I used to roll over and rub your shoulders, at night,
Kiss your cheek, brush your hair out of your eyes,
But then the lights remind me of the bedroom,
When I'd plug them in, and
Start the record player spinning,
When we filled the room with smoke and whiskey breath and
Something so very soft, and kind, and you were always
Turning the lights off leaves me in darkness,
Reminds me I am here, in a body full of ghosts,
Somehow even more haunted than before.
There are ghosts in me that may never die, and
They feel a lot like dying lately;
One wears the face of the pool at my mother's apartment,
Another wears a moving truck,
Another, and another, and another, and
Another, just a soft, certain smile.
They have been here, and they are all of it,
And how am I supposed to let these dead things die?
These things that are sunshine, and lightning storms,
These ghosts that felt like they could become
What will be left, without them?
If there will be anything
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