Sewing up shadows

They flit through this phantom and each
ghost lights a lantern that shines,
even molecules mock me.

I rock back and forth and
mentally scribble
then I dribble things out
through my mouth.

I could cry with the torment,
lend me the wings
let me fly.

She could cannibalise me as
she flies in with the ghosts
and surprise me
with lights in her eyes.

I could leave all the torment behind.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.

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