These paper emotions crumble in slow motion,
and when flame meets my heart, all that is left behind is ash.
My ghost has haunted this temple for so many years
that it thinks it has found home.
We’ve been alone for so long that every calendar day feels
like a holiday.
These words I’ve been screaming now barely come out
in a wheeze. (It’s the asthmatic thoughts
I haven’t been able to conquer.)
I drink to fight these demons and to silence these dragons,
and I still wake up feeling in an empty town hall.
There are locusts in my bed,
memories of better times,
and my words keep shattering apart like globes made of glass..
These flowers are dried and are staining our pillowcases with their memory,
but they no longer smell as sweet as perfume.
These paper emotions crumble.
It’s all in slow motion, and what is left behind is ash.