The Phantom of the Grave

The Phantom of the Grave

I walk under the moon that never sleeps,

calling your name even though I know

the dirt is fresh and cold

and something is moving under the stone.

I hear you in the fog,

your voice soft and cruel,

like a lover and a demon at the same time

circling my head and pulling me apart.

I kneel by your grave,

a shiver crawling up my veins,

your breath on my neck,

your fingers in my thoughts.

I tell myself grief is enough,

but ghosts don’t stay quiet.

They talk, they laugh,

and they make me stay.

You wrap me in a kiss I can’t touch,

memory turning sharp and burning my chest,

my soul begins to slip,

falling into your hollow hands.

Shadows cling to the roots,

feeding your hunger with my fear.

I beg for one more touch,

you smile from the grave and take it anyway.

Every night I lose myself,

your whispers filling my skull,

dragging me down,

love and terror breathing the same.

I walk the edge where sense breaks,

where love is poison and fear is flame.

I am yours, mad, and unmade.

please take me as I am, made only for you.