LIMBO

​

is a house full of ghosts living or 

dead? this place is riddled with 

spirits, trapped like flies in 

the honey-sun pooled against 

the window panes. shadows 

of our old-selves swim through

the floorboards and hum inside 

the walls. dirty feet and dandelion 

breath and soft dreams, swirled 

into the dust. we filled this place 

with all these things before 

we learned the world is 

not big enough to carry

every piece of ourselves 

forever. we have slowly 

rotted into fragments, 

dilute in the silent air. 

the house is tired of holding 

its breath. even once we 

understand these truths, 

it is still hard to let ourselves 

go, to accept that  

our house of ghosts 

is a living thing waiting

for permission to die.