We Haunt Ourselves, Endlessly.

the stranger who used to inhabit
your bones
was rosy-cheeked,
with entire galaxies in their eyes.
they ran through the world, fleet-
footed,
unburdened by tomorrow’s what ifs,
and could have beens.

the stranger who used to inhabit your
bones
was hollow-eyed,
with slits in the place of wrists.
they were an unfulfilled vacancy,
an unopened box in the attic.
you learn how to smile, they didn’t.

the stranger who used to inhabit your
bones
used to watch the stars every night,
back in the old house.
they were voracious, relentless;
they have no love but for looks and
the stars.
you learnt how to cry, they never did.

the stranger who used to inhabit your
bones
eventually becomes just that, a
stranger–
a ghost, haunting their own house.

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