Ghost

Games, rolling dice,

Which number will appear?

Double Sixes?

Surely not 12 2 25,

That’s impossible now.

My dice are cold,

Hardly warmed by being in the

Palm of my hand

– Much like you; hardly warm.

Is it really easier to not care?

Blocking you from my thoughts,

Turning a blind eye to my peripheral

Vision- Your shadow casting on my view.

It’s exhausting. Endless and constant,

Perhaps it would be easier to give in,

Let myself be consumed by tireless

Notions of you.

Still, I tell myself I don’t care,

Loud music playing in my ears,

Raise my middle finger to your

Ghost- As God knows I can’t touch you.

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