and he is everywhere on the walls,

no one can see it but me.

like a ghost that haunts,

only sensed when my heart breaks

stomach plummets

and I breathe deeper.

you write any poems that aren’t for him?

they ask and i just cackle.

you think I write for him? i sneer

i write for me.

i write because i have to.

i write so that one day, i can purge him

so he can haunt only some photo i’ve forgotten to delete

like an exorcism through poetry.

What a miracle, they’ll say.

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