Air Conditioning

Ghosts haunt me (the grave).

Part of me wishes, in a detached kind of way, that the people that have hurt me in the past would die, just so that I don't have to see the very real ghosts that haunt me with their memory on the worst of days with the worst of luck.

Seeing them there,
A ghost of a memory,
A haunting specter infiltrating on my
Plane, of joy and hope,
Sacrificed for their mere presence.

Why must they haunt me?
A shattering glimpse into my past
Never the joy, always the bad
A shock into my life, splitting my brain for days to come.

It hurts, but at least the ghosts aren't literal
For if they were the guilt of having wanted them to be
Would tear my life from limb,
And create a specter out of me as well,
Real or not.

I don't know how it would feel,
To have my metaphorical enemies die.

Metaphorical because I never know how to settle on a thought
When it comes to those that condition me
Whom I love and love
Whom I am hurt by.

Are they my enemies?
Or simply my past lovers?

They are enemies in that they find a way
To ruin everything once more.
To hurt despite my best efforts,
Without a ghost,
Just a broken person they've left their marks on.
Just a memory of pain that hurts anew.

To have them die,
would be conflicting.

They would never be physical again,
A dead person become corporeal to haunt me
Perhaps the grave of what once was lies in my broken body,
My patchwork of scars becoming the symbol
A gravestone of 'what once was' and 'what could have been' and 'was it your fault, or theirs?'

They would never psychically be there again.

But now that I've contemplated their deaths,
Well and truly,
I don't know if it would be better or worse.

For now that their death is tied to my consciousness,
For them to die would be for them to haunt my thoughts rather than the grave of my scarred body

And their presence in my very own sentience would surely be fatal.

It's a curiosity.

Do I want those that have hurt me to die?