The Little Ghost

Autumn makes me nostalgic for things that never happened, for memories that aren’t mine.

The Little Ghost

She cowered

beneath the midnight

sun, beneath

the waves of Halloween

She opened my body

and peeled me like orange,

drank my blood like

sweet wine and drank

me dry

My body became her

capsule, and my ghost

became small beneath

the wavering moon

I howled to a God that

no longer loved me

as Autumn became

my second home

She danced around witches,

played with witchcraft,

whispered to demons,

and kissed my lips

I was already dead

as she whispered poison

on to my lips and washed

me in bath salts

and pumpkin guts

I have become nostalgic

as my love became my death

because my body has withered

and died

I float among the living,

whispering to my love

I'll haunt you till your

dead

surreal poetry
How does it work?
Read next: I Am A Bullet.