My sweetheart the drunk

I see the ghosts behind me

Photo by Patrick Schneider on Unsplash

When I look into the mirror
I do not see my face
I see the ghosts behind me,
Trailing blood and lace.

I excuse my misapprehension,
I apologize for my fault,
I’d love to fully explain
My face, my persona, my whole gestalt.

But I ain’t a good prose writer,
I cannot see the end,
I always hear the thunder,
It is deep within my heart,
Trying to tear me apart
One day it will succeed
And then I’ll be dead,
Indeed.

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