I can still feel the traces
Of the darkness that we once felt,
Residing in these walls and curtains,
Like ghosts and energy left behind
At the scene of some god awful tragic crime.
(A Kirlian photograph would betray the radiation.)
And I sense that you are with me,
A deceased ancestor leaning on my shoulder,
Like Death himself with a calcified and bony claw
Scratching at my cheek, breaking skin,
And pleading me to leap in to the soupy river Kelvin
Down outside the room below.
31/10/11
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