because I really like the dichotomy of love and death. (shakespeare runs through some veins, at least)

I am not just another echo

no middle ground for us, dear -

I am not just another ech--
oh, no.

I am not just another raindrop meeting
my death on the muddy pavement, waiting
perhaps for someone like you to stretch
out your tongue and catch
me on the tip and not be bothered
by the traces of acid, the remnants of past loves,

past lives.

I am not just another tender ghost wandering
through our hallowed history, searching
for one more corpse to hold
close, complaining
about the dust on the shelves,

in the sky.

I am not your superimposed shadow stuck
in an imperfect body, and I will not greet
your voice any more because you no longer appear
in the doorway, junk in hand, preaching
closeness and pliant touches -

the virtues of sharing are dead to me.

but you can't touch a ghost,
you can't touch an echo
because she can't say the words,
no matter how lovely her voice.

no hope for you, dear -

there's no such thing.