Voices

I feel them latch onto my back
whispering, humming
to the music of memories
haunting memories,
talking about places and
nooses and niches
and hiding,

my spine:
heavy of the dark places
in my room, tear stained
carpets solemnly swear secrecy
and spots of life
smudge the walls
as the hollowness
of the spines
pulls out promises and
tears them apart;

the ghostly sleep of
the lifeless bodies
and the stench of death
from my backyard
claws, whispers,
burns, abandons, leaps:
changing shapes,
changing voices;

the voices prolong.
the voices never leave.

my ghost:
a silent house, alive
and broken, bloody of
the broken stairs and
beautiful mornings
in which life seems to seep
around the corners, but walks
away- a weary traveller,
too tired to
fall asleep;

the beauty in the living
of lifeless bodies
and the stench of death
from my childhood
shakes, screams,
chokes, grapples, shambles:
changing bodies,
changing voices;

the voices prolong.
the voices never leave.

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11 thoughts on “Voices

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