The candlelight crawls across the room,
bright eyes of yellow and orange
glinting in the flickering dark-
There are things here that don’t belong.
Whether that is me and my existing
in arms that won’t long to hold me
in the morning hours after I make a silent getaway,
listening to a heart that doesn’t beat for me
or my love.
Maybe its the ghosts rising from the battered
structure of this home
that is no home.
The past creeps like a cat along the windowsill,
moon at its back,
waiting for the moment to pounce,
reach out and scratch
some memories back into my mental cavern of black
thoughts and empty days.
Mind the shadows darling,
there are things here that don’t belong-
the candlelight a life house in the dark,
and it calls to them,
a beacon to this bitter soul.