The Sitting Ghost

Leave the chair where it is,
even though it remembers you
Let the dust coat its body
as it rots to keep your secrets

If your knees give out
rest upon the floor
Soon its paint will fade
with tears that stain its colors

When the time is right
it will no longer need to fill the space
Retire the chair from its corner
find a sprout blooming in its place

Published by Blues without Clues

I write what I can’t say out loud.

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