Necromnesis
By breath and bone and fleeting trace,
I call you—
by sigh mistaken, empty space,
I call you—
by echoes caught in fraying thread,
by shadows drifting near my bed,
by scents that slither, thick with dread,
I call you.
I stitch your shape from borrowed air,
I bind you—
from splintered voice and strands of hair,
I bind you—
by vowels cracked in walls that moan,
by lullabies in fractured tone,
by dreams that rot before they’ve grown,
I bind you.
With circle drawn in dust and doubt,
I raise you—
with trembling hands and heart devout,
I raise you—
from memories blurred, decayed, and frail,
from bitter charms cursed to fail,
from grief that bends the midnight veil,
I raise you.
And for a moment—just a gleam,
I hold you—
your weightless step, a fading dream,
I hold you—
the warmth that drifts and slips below,
the phantom touch I used to know,
the scar that roots but will not grow,
I hold you.
Then by my hope that turns to ache,
I lose you—
by spells that falter anguish wakes,
I lose you—
in silence deep, where heartbeats part,
where echoes coil and shadows start,
again, again—my quiet art,
to lose you.