phobia.

melting tar hair piled high,
cascading over
her soft, bronzed skin;

as she whispered
into the dark,
“i am scared of living.”

sharp eyes,
creating vivid shapes
and monochrome rainbows;

the ghost held her hand
as they sat in the dark,
“why are your hands so cold?”

simultaneous death and life;
simultaneous solitude and company;
the warm greeting of silence.

suddenly her chest is tight,
breathing shallow, he tells her,
“your lungs are drowning in sadness and grief.”

but where the ghost appeared,
now lies only a dark, rigid rock;
sturdy, unmoving, soundless.

she stayed for a while,
the rock did not move, but murmured,
“it is enough.”

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