The Little Ghost
Autumn makes me nostalgic for things that never happened, for memories that aren’t mine.
By Alexia VillanuevaPublished 5 years ago • 1 min read
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"In the season of autumn, we first realize how beautiful it is to let things go and to move on."
She cowered
beneath the midnight
sun, beneath
the waves of Halloween
She opened my body
and peeled me like orange,
drank my blood like
sweet wine and drank
me dry
My body became her
capsule, and my ghost
became small beneath
the wavering moon
I howled to a God that
no longer loved me
as Autumn became
my second home
She danced around witches,
played with witchcraft,
whispered to demons,
and kissed my lips
I was already dead
as she whispered poison
on to my lips and washed
me in bath salts
and pumpkin guts
I have become nostalgic
as my love became my death
because my body has withered
and died
I float among the living,
whispering to my love
I'll haunt you till your
dead
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