You left fingerprints in places
skin was never meant to bruise.
I wear them like a second flesh-
tight, cracked, and used.
Your voice still slithers
between my teeth,
a taste I can’t spit out,
a lie beneath.
Nails full of dirt
from digging out your name,
but it’s carved in bone,
etched in shame.
I run in circles,
dragging chains.
No doors. No light.
Just echoes and stains.
You never left.
You never will.
You’re not a ghost,
you’re something still.
