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prompt: prompts
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Feb 26, 2017 22:16
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| # ¿ Apr 29, 2024 13:04 |
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5D AUTISM SPEX posted:stacking up graves here ghosts to each other the graveyard is made out of dreams. gravestones, cold grey, stand like bullheaded statues, guarding the dead from the living. the men and women are no longer in the dirt. there's only what they left behind. bones, skin, ice. only the living go to graveyards, where they drop down rainbow pinwheels and pink roses. they recognize the names etched into the stone, but that's all the ghosts are. names, sounds, utterances, missed timed apologizes and a shouting match in the downstairs office. the graveyard is off the side of the freeway, the fence warm from the summer sun. the ghosts slip between the cracks in the metal and it is only when you are in the middle of the graveyard, of the dead brown grass and faded rocks, that you are not haunted. you still hear them speak outside, laugh, joke, beer bottle clack together. the dead are living just out of sight, and you can only pull out weeds from above your father's corpse. you wanted to ask the ghosts, their bodies mist and their voices dust, if you can join them, but they cannot understand you. they swirl around you, sink into your skin, dredge up feelings of panic, of dread, that phone call from the hospital. you used to want to ask them if they ever wanted to stop living. now, you keep your distance and listen, their sounds soft. at night, they get close, curl up next to you, and whisper. their words are like fog. impossible to understand. you want them to stop, to stop being warm next to you. they remind you of her. she does not have a grave, but you've built one up for her. it is a divot in the grass, where an icecube melted. it is her, all you have left of her. you are alone, in a graveyard, listening to ghosts live. she is not dead, so you cannot hear her, but you know she lives and hate that she breathes the same air as you. you hate that she is cold at night, that she might remember your face, remember your touch, and miss it. you hate that she lives when you are both ghosts to each other, each of you faded memories like a light finger touch. you dont want to ask the ghosts anything, anymore. you only listen to them in case you hear a new voice. hers, so you might be able to say something to her. you dont know what, but that doesnt matter.
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Apr 4, 2017 23:17
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