nothing ever ends.

we can't remember when our hearts were whole

or our eyes fully open

but we found each other in the broken glass

on the bar room floor,

writing poetry among ashes and cigarette butts

in this cold city,

what dies during winter,

can be resurrected in spring.

kissing ghosts, 

break the molds of what we once were.

bury it in the ground,

phantoms of whole hearts

and open eyes.

keep the darkness out.

head shakes

and sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless summer

rise up from blurry memories of drunken sunsets that blur into sunrise

and sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless night

try to settle into the wasted moments of the present, 

wanting to sink their cold fingers into warm  flesh of potential.

but sometimes, when it's easy to sink back into that sea of destruction,

ghosts have had their second chances, loose lips sink ships, baby,

and this is not an S.O.S.

but sometimes, the ghosts of a reckless summer

rise up from blurry memories of drunken sunsets that blur into sunrise

and sometimes, it's best to become the ghost in someone's mind

rising up and walking alone, away, into a wasted sunset that blurs into a sunrise