Leaving
a chasm in her wake that sucks in everything like the punctured wall
of a submarine
I
feel like a ghost just ran through me.
And
it takes effort not to follow that ghost,
not
to charge after it into Hades wielding a lyre. Playing Cerberus a
lullaby, rowing the river styx and charming the pants off of the big
man himself, begging him to let me take it back, take back the ghost
of the person I was when I was with her.
And
yet all I can do is look back, all I can do is look back and doom
myself over and over again as I send that ghost falling back into the
pit because looking forward means I'll never see it again.
So
I play this twisted version of soul yoyo.
Flinging
my dead relationship up and down. Not letting it rest in peace but be
trapped on a bungie-chord of self pity and longing.
Parting
is such sweet sorrow.
A
sweetness that has become a drug, taken again and again to fend of
the harsh reality of growing up.
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