Fauxtographic Memory

I keep losing sleep in beds still made from soaking sheets
And I’m still haunted by the ghosts of people still breathing
I already hate the words, they’re not a thing we even share
Stop looking for a metaphor, it isn’t there…

~*~

Photographs in negative slate

Cigarette ash on his fingertips

A lock of hair on the pillowcase

Faint redolence of perfume sweet

Keys hanging on floral keychains

Abandoned stilettos by the doors

Pastel sticky notes on beige wall

Milk spoiling in the refrigerator

Dusty corner in solemn shadows

Familiar strain of a phonograph

Soft touch but a distant stranger

Faltering echoes of ghostly laugh

Red lipstick stains on sheets of silk

And aftershaves of musk and cedar

An empty closet, dirty bathroom sink

His eulogy written in crumpled paper.

~*~

Fauxtographic memory
A mind that’s still developing
I turn my back on all I see
Cause everything feels make believe
You tried to stay, I made you leave
And made the world give up on me
I can’t accept reality…

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