All I see is your ghost,
The darkness in my dreams,
The narrator in my nightmare.
The figure I see in the mirror
I see you hiding between the seams.
Between the cracks in the pavement,
And your silhouette stands idle in the hallway.
Betrayal runs through the veins in your pale skin.

All I hear is your ghost,
The wisp of the words you once spoke,
The crack in your voice,
The clatter of your keys.
You made it so obvious that you didn’t see me.
All I hear is the chime of metal hitting metal,
The low, rumbling hum,
And the fan that I left on.

All I feel is your ghost,
The vibration as the spoon hits the mug,
The warmth that rests on the dashboard of your car.
The leather of your shoes and stained silk of your shirt.
The grasp of frustration,
And sting in my throat.
The desperate attempt
To hold onto hope.

All I smell is your ghost.
The comforting smell of coffee and cologne
The tang of vanilla that lingered in the books you gave me
The smell of wet grass as I sat waiting,
I smell the beads of rain that cling onto the spiderwebs.
The intoxicating intenseness of my favourite perfume.
Revolted by the alcohol that hung to your breathe,
When you so sweetly kissed her.

All I taste is your ghost.
The tangy taste of blood as I smashed my mirror,
The saltiness of my tears, rolling down my cheeks.
Canned peaches and platters of plenty.
Home-made caramel fudge and failed birthday cakes.
Birthdays you’ll never wish to attend again.
The sweat of my thumb
As I turn the page.

You’re everywhere,
But I can never find you.
I hope the thought of me stings,
Setting into your memory, lingering.
There’s a knife in your pocket,
And a chain beneath my blouse.
Because all you are is a ghost,
And I, your haunted house.