did you turn off every light in every single room of your
house? did you dust the spaces between the spaces where
the diseases tend to creep in, the same way as the anxiety.
did the anxiety leave you lonely? feeling pushed back into
the walls you tried to escape? do the walls feel like they are
listening or are the walls too dense to feel? did you think to
water the dying plants? does the refrigerator hum sound
like a purring motor or a sonic death? do you ever use your
record player or does it just spin and spin and spin while
you lie on the floor like the floorboards? are you just like
the floorboards? how heavy do the dead lightbulbs swing?
how much of a house have you become because i miss the
way you’d walk around on those legs like sweet victory. i
miss the way you breathed deep with my ear to your chest
as i played amateur doctor. on the floor beside your bed
as i leaned in to you, cherishing the sound of something
other than everything because i get so sick of everything.
so omnipresent and in need of so much attention. and it
is just so invested in its own well being that it sometimes
forgets to breathe but you breathe and i breathe or we
did but now you’re a house. you are such a house and i
am just the short storm that blew at your shingles and
they didn’t move. they didn’t move.
submit to soboghoso.
South Broadway Ghost Society 