from the ghosts the haunt me

drops of memories, wafting in the air.

I can’t see them as much as I could before.

the night train comes ’round, blowing its whistle at me.

this parcel of memory gift wrapped and silent

from the ghosts that haunt me.

every corner I step around finds dandelions underneath my feet.

straighten them out and blow their seeds till Monday rolls around.

and the land is shaky from infinite holes and I begin to fall.

tumbling down to how you sound without your voice around.

and the night train comes ’round blowing its whistle at me.

this parcel of memory gift wrapped and silent

from the ghosts that haunt me.

so tell me who left you there, where you shouldn’t be standing, alone for awhile until I digress

to what remains to be seen as an afterglow, with so much future untold.

you’re so sad.