It's early morning. the shades are pale & light is softly laid there, still.
my throat is thickly coated with last night's yesterday,
and somehow I resist the urge to swallow again.


   “I can't keep doing this.
    carrying each night to daylight.

    listening to the scraping sound of ghosts,
    sweeping eyelashes across a wooden floor.

    observing how they cradle their collection
    of spare body parts-

    as if it were small children they were carrying,
    instead of the inoperative confiscated sections
    that they protectively hold so close.”

    ...why don't they ever seperate what's different?
    I never see them do anything other than
    piling everything so close together.

    and, to me,
    it almost seems like they're assembling a family.
    a unit of unbreathing members. unbreathing..
    but still a family.

    they do this,
    every night.

    and I watch them,
    every night.


(I know I can't keep doing this, though.)

spending my nights with empty ghosts,
that search for the missing pieces
and filling my days with the living ones
that don't quite know how to disappear.

02/21/2005

Author's Note:


I've been listening to Murder by Death - Killbot 2000 on repeat all night.

Posted on 02/21/2005
Copyright © 2025 Jolie Jordan