a poem to my beloved.


ghost in the shell

if i was alive in 1999
we’d have cigarettes after sex
thinking of the craziest things we’d do next
and we’d swear we’d be fine
because that’s what we do best

but instead to the afterlife you’ll send
with a shotgun in tow
you completed the last final show
“i’m sorry about this man, this is my end”
and with that you let yourself go

but in a way you still live
all the stories we’ll tell
when i’m old and unwell
about the love that we give
but you’re just a ghost in the shell