Phantom

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You haunted me, literally. My mind trembled in pain and ached at the sound of your heart breaking. You needn’t cross this bridge to be reminded why I set it on fire. I was alone, without you. Your phantom menaced my soul, grasping what sanity I...

You haunted me, literally. My mind trembled in pain and ached at the sound of your heart breaking. You needn’t cross this bridge to be reminded why I set it on fire. I was alone, without you. Your phantom menaced my soul, grasping what sanity I had left in your weary hands, holding me on the brink of losing control of my tongue. I had nothing without you, I was nothing without you. Remind me why I never lit these cigarettes after three in the morning, if not just to douse them with my tears. I was walking about a planet I had never known without you. My fingers stroked every key in caution trying my damnedest not to repeat, “without you, without you, without you.” You were everywhere; your phantom lingered in the midst of my morning breath and the coffee I let get cold. Broken maybe, I was broken for lack of a better term. The air around me like glue, holding my stardusted, lonely epidermis from falling to ash. I could forget for a moment if I laced this stout little glass to the brim with my favorite brandy, but if I can’t feel the pain then exactly what was I? Nothing, without you. I was covered in gasoline and purposely strolled through the streets of this hellishly busy catwalk hoping the sun would set me on fire. Remind me why I never lit these cigarettes after two in the afternoon, if not just to watch them disintegrate as I burst into flames. My hands trembled at my sides wondering if a single passerby would notice how on the brink of my sanity I was. “Insanity,” you’re thinking, “insanity.” But my, how wrong you thought. I was centimeters away from my sanity, inches away from my home away from home, my darkness everlast. I begged for the pain, the aching, dull pain to envelope my heart until it was numb, but not a single God I’ve heard of acquired my prayers. So there I was, standing on the balcony at three in the morning. I had a cigarette in my right hand and a bottle of brandy in my left. I stood still for minutes that felt like hours and stared at the bridges we’d set ablaze, wondering for once, if the chill in you had finally gone away.

 

“Warm enough for you yet?” I whispered.


Alexandra L. Narron

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