Person, people, ghosts.

1. there is a girl i grow white flowers for. some days you can see it in her eyes, how i try to sweep the petals off her front yard. it’s supposed to be spring, but you could see the decay eating her away from the inside. it’s hard to stay silent, where there’s a car crash right down the street. i don’t know how bloody it got, but the girl, the girl in the backseat, she’s so young -
there is a girl who believes she is a monster. i don’t know why. i believe there is a mist like a veil in her mind, but i think i understand her, understand the white noise and feelings of sinking, how the shadows sing her down late at night -

2.there was a boy i once knew. he is now a man, but skin of alabaster and bones of plaster. he had a sabre-toothed grin. never in years i would think he tasted like caramel; i’d like to think he is alright.

3.there is a girl i know, my goldfish girl. with scales so iridescent you could see them reflect the light from the wheat and the fields, you would know it was her. occasionally she helps me free yet another moth from my lungs. she does not know this is for her.
there is a boy i would liken to an animal if i knew him better. i don’t, but i know how it makes me smile when his laughter punctures the air. he’s a writer, you see. it would make sense to remove the stitches soon.

4.there is a man i know now. i have watched him leave the emergency room alive, so i know i can do it too. he is so young but he wears silver on his finger like a wedding ring. i think of him and his girl, his woman, his other half, when i want to remember love.
there was a boy i used to know. you’ve heard this story once before, i know. i know. when i first met him, he was from another world, and for too young for that trip to -where was it again?- libya. i don’t see him around anymore, but he’s old to drive know. my september boy, my oldest wish.’s true what they say, choose your goodbyes carefully. none of them will be easy. they will be the hook in your breath, the ones that draw you out of your skin.
i knew a girl with skin like a wolf’s pelt. maybe not skin, but a cloak that everyone saw her in. everyone did think she was a wolf. last i heard, she burnt it. she threw it out to southeastern seas, and i know she prays the tides never return it to her.