Clawing through shadows
of dreams
to find her again
real as a reflection
water trades
for depth when touching
only the ephemeral.
Her words, false
as a pawned ring claiming
absent ghosts in stolen
photographs.
I miss the outlaw
she was before
escaping the noose
of excitement’s gallows,
induced by narcotic
entanglement.
She is now
like the others,
safe.
It is her victory
I do not begrudge,
or misinterpret
and nearly accept
as I will
her wedding invitation.
For only dreams
bring her
former lives to me.
Most nights
it’s all I see
when my eyes,
starved for magic,
close without it.
Horror Sleaze Trash 