I taste the bitterness of metal in my mouth,
As if I have bitten down on words that are filled with blood.
The ghost curls it's fingers into my hair,
Pulling me to it until our bodies are flush.
"A tiny thing, your life is."
The ghost jeers, almost playfully.
"Come with me. I just need a kiss."
My mouth opens; filled with blood.
"I taste life."
The ghost cringes, jerking to flee.
"My words,"
I whisper, "They taste like me."
I notice the missing contours,
Of the ghost that now has scratched my arms,
With stinging poisons
I know I deserve.
And then I'm a fallen mess on the ground.
I bleed out the words I've wished
That wouldn't leave a bitter taste,
Or create earthquakes in my wake.
A tiny thing, my life is.
