Ghosted

There was just the one text

The smashed phone was the product thereof

And of my fierce anger

Because I knew what would follow

I knew Silence

Would be come your answer

Your postanthropocene

And my identity was for naught.

You were (of course)

Wrong…

It was not you I had misimagined

It was the self I believed

Existed under your gaze

That was the fiction.

She walked behind me for years

That thing I created

That doppelgänger who I believed

You once termed

“Friend”.

And then one night

I could face her no more

This thing I’d stitched together out of

Joy

Shared moments

Shared silence

Sharing in general

Oh I wove her gowns

Her hair out of the silken streamers

Of laughter

Her steps tripping down walk ways

A smile ever ready

I made her out of love

For you

—Out of innocent stupidity.

But you ghosted

That creature

And in your silence

I decided

She’d have to die.

I couldn’t have her following me

I couldn’t look at her and wonder

“Why?”

Anymore

Made out of love and strangled

By indifference…

That’s the way things that (only believe)

They were loved

Usually go to die

Isn’t it?

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~ by Rebecca Erickson on October 5, 2015.

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