Ghost

November. It is nowhere near me now. November is circling back around though. It moves along confidently, in an evil orbit, content to slowly circumnavigate it’s way back to me. Floating overhead like a bloodlusting scavenger bird. Feathers that are oily with the stench of black. A sickly, satisfied bird, pleased with itself and a meal yet to come.

Patiently, November waits to destroy me again. To cast a coasting predator’s shadow over me. Every love song in this honky-tonk bar reminds me that I broke up with a whore, but that I still miss her. Relapse. I’m not in this moment. My friends disappear like a mirage as my emotions take over. I miss her. Her horrible betrayals, her deceptions and unbelievable cruelties. I miss her treachery the way an addict misses the necessary needle; poison in the veins.

I broke up with the worst person I have ever met, last November. I’ve been running ever since. Like a doomed animal scared of the growing, approaching darkness soaring in callously from above. There is no escape.

The further away from November that I get, the closer it becomes again.

I’m drunk and I need to find my way home.