Girl's Got Some Ghosts

The wagons that carried her
here have toppled.

Its spokes rinse
sand from
their wheels at
an awful pitch,

playing
barely
audible tricks
on the mind,
fairly impossible to live
with circles those size running
like ink from her
eyes.

The tattoos in
her tears
spell more heart
than they spill.

From the
first day I haunted you
it took five cigarettes in
a row to

euthanize any
sense of time
that followed it;

two bottles
per night you could ingest and
walk just slightly short of

a straight line,
recite alphabets backwards
and fuck like
live
firecrackers.

She’s my walking disaster in love with
the sight of her own
upturned chariot.

The only variant this story could
have used was
an ending, rather than
nightmares pretending they would eventually

translate to dreams

but she falls asleep
to wake up in
yet another
darkness,

her first instincts always
screaming.

Related:
Wagon Girl

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One thought on “Girl's Got Some Ghosts

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