More Questions Than Answers: Poetry of Horror

You left.

The night you left, I remember.

You kissed me for the first time.

I told you I loved you. 

Now, tell me.

Why do I see faces in confusion?

Why do I see faces in pain?

When I tell them you left, they say,

"You have to let go,"

"This isn't healthy,"

I know, I know I need to let go.

It's just that I can't get out of my head,

"We all thought you stopped seeing him."

"Seeing who?" I finally asked.

"That man none of us can see."