Dear Ghost
Dear Ghost,
Dear Spectre,
Dear Phantasm,
Dear poltergeist who refuses to be removed from the tender flesh of my heart.
I hate you for what you did. Problems are problems, but you can't mold me into your ideal any more than you can pick that beer bottle back up and reassemble it's shattered pieces, nor even dream of removing every droplet of alcohol from my skin.
I ripped ravines and broke bones to see you alive, and to feel the return of a painstaking love I did tenderly bring you every chance I could. Instead, well instead I was lashed a thousand times over. For what I don't know exactly, you were a storm raging with hot firey lightning and I happened to be the nearest tin man.
I loved you oh so dearly. Every part of you from your milky bronze eyes, your inviting lips, and every masterful detail; scars and all, but I guess you couldn't see that. You couldn't see the endless worlds I conquered for you, the highest peaks I climbed for you, the deepest depths I plunged for you. I was...for you.
And where are we now? All that I have left of you are scars and memories, though I can't tell one from the other. It's been years by now, and yet, you continue to fill me with a dreaded naivety. The flash of a pure and eternal smile. The warmth on my heart not a thousand Suns rising could implore upon any world.
I find myself...seizing at just the search of your name. Like a soldier being called to arms, and like war, I may convince myself the cause is just but I'm simply left...to rust; a noxious poison eating away at my tin body. I hunger for your lips, for I no longer remember their taste nor lust, only the copper of blood running on my arms, shoddy, and the self-denial I have no choice but to trust.
As much of a cutter you were to my wires, I can't help longing for you, for what was there; for us. I dream of you, a kinder but perhaps foolish vision of an ideal so close, so sweet, I wake up nearly by falling asleep once more.
As my hands hover a mere soft whimper away from reaching out, and I find tears forming on my face, I touch not but an incorporeal mist, a whisp,
and I am haunted once more.
You're a rabid dog left vulnerable alone to torture, and while you have certainly broken your teeth off in me,
I will always love you.