Chased By Ghosts

I am being chased by ghosts 

memories that land on your head like bird droppings

without warning

only an unexpected stomach clench

and you are off again reliving the same old same old…

Watch his hand closely as he moves those shells around

trying to see the tells in time to walk away

game over this time ha ha so long suckers…

How long will those phantoms pursue me?

How long will I give them leave to curl into me

and pull the string in my back?

I envy the stone statues in the fountain,

cooling water and granite,

nothing shifting and writhing inside.

No reminders that they once developed a taste for fire

  and was nearly burnt up.

I am that smoldering girl no longer.

I drove until the road ran out to reach a different time and place

a different way of being

a different me.

Yet no moat,

no keep out sign,

no lone ranger masked and sharp shooting

can ride it down

 can hold that past from seeking me out.

We are imprinted

it’s locked on to me like a homing pigeon

  and I wish and I wail and I scream inside

shaking mental fists.

Where is the bleach that will wipe away these stains?

Who will strike some matches and melt the film that runs over and over in my head?

I am being chased by ghosts

and I’m stumbling and winded

and so so tired.

I’m being chased by ghosts

and I’m not strong enough to keep running.


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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2 Responses to Chased By Ghosts

  1. chimerapoet says:

    Reblogged this on Chimera Poetry and commented:

    Turning back… year ago

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