By James Cummins

The screaming ghost
lives in the corridor between
my room and the outer world,
There, her heart beat strongly once,

A suffocated soul
opens her mouth gasping for breath,
Unable to let anything in,
All substance below her,
Beyond her,

Drifting through the walls,
Her icy blue shadow falls from darkness,
Dying whenever touching the warmth of light
or gaze,

Hidden from life
her spirit glides in heavy thought,
The only things that may stay with her,
As the only things that may release
are silent screechings,

Her love graved away,
She cannot contain but can only be
By complete emptiness


Look for the novel "The Phoenix Index: Never Rain" due out in February from Publish America, as well as other future works by James Cummins.


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