I’m sedentary,
I have returned at last
to my Ghost House.
Who’s walls used to ring
with the shouts and laughs of children
If you listen hard, you can still hear Paw Patrol
or the echos of a door slam.
All that is left
Is the toothbrush on the bathroom counter,
A juice stain on the carpet
A single tiny shoe
Forgotten in the stairwell
I could tell you
Endless stories,
I could yell
and still now be able to drown out
the sound of silence in my Ghost House.
I returned,
heavy with guilt
eager to come to rest
bursting with trepidation
In seconds I slipped back into the sedation.
My body forms a groove in the bed
It becomes a game in my head,
How many days can i go without moving?
Vertical is over rate.
I will fuse,
I refuse to move again
Fetus position, the bed a womb
My Ghost House
My tomb.
