Saturday, 16 November 2013

Ghost Walk

This flat held so much potential.
Now the space is deafening to sensitive ears
shouting tirades of death and mental illness
daily, hourly-weekly, hurriedly, incessantly.

Walking on the eggshells of that night,
one night, most nights in fact,

when I saw you green with dizziness,
without control,
my fear; your fear.
as if  spun in a washing machine.
One reliant upon the other.

I could not decipher the words oozing from your mouth,
I could not help you,
Could not see what you were showing me
or accept this apparition.
Mary Magdalene

a year to the day,
In every room,
I run my fingertips along
every step-by-step from bathroom wall to bedroom wall
every dog-scratched wall
every fingerprinted wall
every wall that holds this house together:

every dead wall breathes life into this unbearable loss.

Could not talk, speak, articulate, convey, illustrate.
Still can't.
just nonsense words and letters jumbled up on a non-concrete page.

To the bathroom then,
a wonky floorboard of immutable melancholy
squeaks harshly in the otherwise empty 3am.

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