Alright, I said I'd stop with the anonymous "you" business, but this is a poem. Maybe not a very good one, but nevertheless, a poem. Let it be.
Okay fine. I get it.
You're gone.
If you're going to go, go.
Go and give me my peace.
Here's the thing. You don't get it.
You were too much for me.
For anyone really.
And it drove us crazy.
We're all a little crazy. Me especially.
No matter how hard I try.
There's always that little hint of you.
Reminding me you once were there.
You left. I thought it would help.
I now think I'm losing my mind.
Everything has some small bit of you.
A little poltergeist waiting to get me.
I'm a masochist. I can deal.
But it'll eventually wear me down, you know.
Trying to shield myself from every remnant you left.
Because there are still ghosts.
They lurk. They wait for me.
When I'm feeling my lowest, then they strike.
That's when the memories come flooding back.
They dance through my mind; spirits at a seance.
Decide. Give me peace!
If you decide to come back, fine.
You made up your mind to go, so go.
Take your damned spectres with you!
Maybe this is cathartic. Sure.
Maybe you'll read this and laugh to yourself.
Maybe you'll feel bad, maybe you'll say something.
Or maybe you won't care at all.
You're bad for me. I know it.
I should try to get rid of you, probably.
But ghosts are determined little buggers.
Once they move in, they're here to stay.
I won't be rid of you. Not ever.
As much as I hate your not being here, it won't change.
I'll never mean enough to you to matter.
I wish we'd actually been true friends.
But we weren't. Sad.
Now every day I'm stuck trying to rebuild my defenses.
There's no Ghostbusters for me to call.
These are hauntings of another variety.
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