‘Corpse he Found in his Covers (was it 2am?)’

do not look at me,

for I do not exist

I am skin and bone marrow

and oxygen tendrils

and you cannot touch what is not there.

so often I find

myself encased in glass,

in tones of grey and tones of song

and a husk under a blanket

is the only thing keeping it all bound

to this plane.

do not say you care for me

because I am a ghost

and you’ve attached yourself

to something dead,

something intangible,

something that is missing.

let me go,

because I am gone.


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