The note left more questions than answers.
You’re a ghost driving a meat coated Skeleton made from stardust, what do you have to be scared of?
She is more abandoned than the house. A home bleached out from sun and corrosive atmosphere. Bits of flannel curtains thrown down as rugs. The dog sits awaiting your return. His eternal wait closer to the beginning.
We sit across. Opposed at the thoughts and separated by the scars of trying to talk. The train of your excesses. The box cars full of scorn left nothing but tracks behind. I’m at 99.5 percent of my journey through your hell.
Excuse my while I move my chair to face the water. At least the tide will move toward me one a day.