Title: Ghosts
A poem by: E-Saint

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As I walk through the backyard
I'm looking without looking
for my ghosts.

Curly light hair
flashes next to a wall.
A prudish hateful stance
hides in a slimmer body.
Two steps later
a hair cut peeks
out of a bathroom
and into my eyeballs.

Blood stops running.
One heartbeat.
Two heartbeats.
Stop.
Again.

Going up
there is also
the mirage of a friend.

E.S.