an unwanted seance

“alone again?”
she asked
i could hear
the smile
i knew parted
her full lips

but i ignored
her as i listened
to the word play
slipping into
the gaps between
intricate lyrics
and the driving
sound of 808s

“you knew exactly
how it would end,
yet you let yourself
fall once again.
don’t you ever
listen? she runs.
you knew this.”

i refused to
acknowledge the
razor edge
she hid under
her split tongue
even as the truth
cut far deeper
than her tone.

“what ever happened
to us?” she
whispered seductively
her voice tingled
along my earlobe.

my pulse
as she knew
it would.

“you tried your
best to kill me
and if you hadn’t
killed yourself
first, you likely
would have done it”
i snarled,
my words.

the air grew
cooler in her
petulant silence
she wouldn’t admit
the honesty in
my words out loud
even if we both
saw it exactly
as it was then.

“another love
killed by the self
styled bipolar
bard, an empty
poet with a
talented tongue
and the ability
to ruin every
poor soul he
encounters in
his myopic quest
for a happiness
he doesn’t deserve.”

all i can do is
smile and nod,
she could always
see through my
bullshit to the
broken child
slamming doors
just behind my
mood ring eyes,
my idiocy in
believing someone
with a similar
upbringing would
understand how
to navigate the
hell inside me,
only to give the
power to someone
who knew exactly
which buttons
to press in a
maniacal glee
bordering on
the psychopathic.

“you can’t even
look at me, you’re
a coward.”

she is right.
i feel claustrophobic
as the ghostly
choir screams
unable to face
the lingering spirits
of broken hearts
filling the room
to capacity,
crescent moon
smiles taunting
me from all sides.

“we will never
run away, no matter
how difficult
you become.”

and somehow,
of all her truths,
this one hurt
worst of all.

8 thoughts on “an unwanted seance

      1. lol! Well, I think you’re smarter than that… with a good ear and a good eye. I know you’re familiar with Ray Bradbury… how he allowed himself to “drive” staying within his headlights and just following the muse, sometimes with her sitting next to him. I’m paraphrasing Dandelion Wine or something from it… but that’s the best school of writing even if you don’t like what he’s writing about, which often I don’t. But you have THAT ability… that is trusting yourself blind folded and in the dark… to walk on glass… etc… to get there. (so to speak) Sooo… don’t put yourself down. You know how to tell a story. That’s not easy.

        Liked by 1 person

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