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Writer's pictureYours Truly

Tales of a Ghost Writer

Updated: Nov 9, 2019


~

Ghost Writer cries.


But you can't hear her.


Sometimes,

she can't even hear herself.

Or, at least,

she chooses not to;

she chooses to ignore

the sob caught in her throat

like a pill that's washed

down the wrong way.


Ghost Writer attempts

to swallow her sob

which then catapults

to the depths of her stomach

where she can

never

reach it

(where she can never

fully tame it

to silence).


When Ghost Writet

studies her image

in the mirror,

she can't quite comprehend

the sight of her reflection.

The intricacies of

human life become blurred,

almost inconceivable.


Head tilts in

bemusement--

so what ?


Lashes flit against

shrinking pupils--

these eyes are

vortexes of dream.


Breath respires from

mouth to mirror to fog

to--

I am not real...


Ghost Writer’s body is

tethered to the earth,

but her soul dwells elsewhere.


Heart pleads,

tries to convince her

of her own existence,

pounding with the force

of a Goddess' blood

against skeleton-key ribs.


But heart cannot

get through to her.


Heart is padlocked,

too far removed from subject,

like the monkey's heart

that "hung" in the

rose apple tree.


(Phantom heart

for a Phantom Woman.)


But it is unclear

if Ghost Writer is the monkey

or the crocodile's wife

in our fable.


Ghost Writer is hungry,

but for what exactly

she hungers for,

she does not know.

She only knows that

she is barren,

a characteristic shared

with the eye sockets

children cut out of

white bedsheets on Halloween.


The colour has been stripped

from the canvas of her creation.


She is an unfulfilled masterpiece

(something will always be

missing).


Ghost Writer picks up

her quill

to make sense of

this senseless emptiness.


She writes and

she writes and

she writes and--

"How prolific!" they say.


Yet,

all of these poems and

not a friend to her name.


Ghost Writer

sleepwalks through

the terror of this

loneliness.


She goes to grasp

the fingertips of those

she once knew--

those who once cared

(supposedly).

Anchors to ground her

to the reality that

threatens to strand her.


A mass of beating vessels--

proof that, as long as they

are in her presence,

as long as they can offer her

the tentative connections

of their friendship,

she, too, is alive.


But when she reaches for them,

they pull away,

seamless as the air.


Ghost Writer breaks,

haunts the desolate

alleyways of her mind

with the plagues of

her insecurities.

Self-esteem erodes

until she devolves

into her worst nightmare--


nothing.


Ghost Writer disappears

(this time without redemption).


She leaves no souvenirs behind

to perpetuate her memory,

no tangible mementoes.


She leaves behind

only that which

will not be destroyed,

by fickle, selfish hands:


She leaves behind the

Poetry.


For even long after the

Vanishing Act has resolved itself

to the relics of

what has been,

Ghost Writer shall

always have the last word.

 

Image Source:

Veiled women gif (n.d.). [image] Available at: https://weheartit.com/entry/255330803 [Accessed 26 May. 2019].

 
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