The ghost of what was,
lingers like the smell of smoke,
toasted the flesh of the past.
It sizzels and shrinks.
But you never feel the burn.
Its only after its gone,
does the biting signal of change,
send waves of panic.
Takes away the life,
of what was the "you"
Made Stronger or not,
things change,
beauty can not be erased
and words whispered in the dark,
like honey from your searching lips,
are mine to keep.
Each one burned,
like the ghost,
into the wrinkles of my brain.
Where the past still lives,
where what was can still be.
I live in the past,
as I loath the uncertain
future that I have cut for myself.
