December means clearing out last year,
making room for the new season as it draws near.
As I lift my broom to sweep away the old,
something quite odd can be seen beneath the mold.
I see you rising up from the mat of tangled hair
and dust, cobwebs and ashy air.
You, Ghost, what have you come for?
You belong to the past. Speak no more.
You are an artifact
and I made a pact
between my mind and heart to stop calling forth the past
but I know this won’t be the last
I hear of you.
You only surface in the hours before dawn
reminding me as I sigh, turn, and yawn
of all the things I wish I could forget
of all the things I will always regret.
No, don’t tell me to remember to eat
because I wholeheartedly refuse to keep
listening to you, you hornet in my mind,
why won’t you let me leave you behind.
You are why I have learned to never trust myself.
For better or worse, for my own health,
I have buried you down so deep,
too far for you to ever leap
back into my version of reality.
So do stop trying to find me.