Part IV · Fallout
Ghosts
My mind is no longer mine.
You live in its recesses—
surfacing in every interaction,
belittling, demeaning,
dragging me back to the first time
I wasn’t enough.
Your praise never stayed—
only the scars did.
I can’t look in the mirror.
It summons the figment of you—
a whisper turned thunder.
My highs are lows.
My lows, rock bottom.
The loyalty you never carried
became my cross to bear.
Even simple exchanges make me sick.
Even though we died last year.
Maybe it’s the pain
of actually letting go.
Because letting go is real.
And you put me through too much “real”
to say goodbye
to the figment of you
still buried in my mind.
And God—
I wish the scars you left
would scrub off.