i thought the Past was dead

but hes not – hes here


he hunches in the corner of my room

and sits opposite me at dinner

he follows me around

but he doesnt say a word

i know hes there though

he smells

and it sticks to the curtains

clings to the walls

stains the carpet like old sick

all my clothes reek of him

i wash and wash but its still there

i can still smell where hes been

i can tell where he is by the heaviness in the air

he is the mouth that does not smile at a joke

he is the cloud on the day of the parade

he is the wrong side of the bed

i can turn away but he is always in front of me

i cant sleep because my bedsheets smell so

i thought the Past was dead

and gone

but i was wrong

hes here

he wont go away.