ghost stories.

ghost stories.

hey, you whisper.
hey, don't –
if you're there, tell me.

there is a ghost in the
room but it won't speak.
you have a nightmare about how
it has pretty pale skin and
pretty pale eyes and
peels away your skin
slowly and carefully, like
its fingers are encased in
cancer. there are cities that are
shuddering to the ground
in your nightmare, breaking
apart like cracks
in an earthquake, and
rivers of ash and nothing.

when you wake up, you
catch a glimpse of the ghost.
it has pretty brown hair and
pretty pale skin and
it smiles too hard
without baring its teeth.
you are afraid of
what is behind
the closed lips, because
it is not music that
wakes you up when
you are falling asleep
in the bathtub after being there
too long. sometimes the ghost is tired
of making noises that say
help me, please, and then you
sing, low and scared,
to try to give the ghost
a home.
it imprints fingerprints
on foggy mirrors and
doesn't leave.