Ms. Specter

Scroll right through my own beginning.

Fall face first into someone else's ending.

Pretending can only take me so far.

There will be another debate on what it means to live a life

shortly.

Each greedy hand stuck in an unmarked honey pot.

I gave up long ago.

Spectator turned specter.

The bones in me tremble in premature fear.

I want someone new with fresh eyes

and to hold onto them for dear life.

Reduce! Reuse! Recycle!

Globs and globs of heavy paint

into something I can hang on the wall

proudly.

He kisses me

and I can feel his ghost too.