coffee stains

mourning on ghosts

perhaps, it's like
earth and space
and gravity and time
is playing
a mean joke
on me
leaving me static
on my feet to the ground
breathing
yet already
hardly living.
existing yet,
do i really exist at all?

maybe
i have not yet come
to know grief
like how most people
already did.

but mourning
for a person
you lost inside of you
is perhaps
the same pain
every one
comes to feel
in front
of a coffin.

if death
is to be synonymous
to pain,
how else is it different
to look at yourself
in the mirror
day by day
with a mount of terror,
slowly drifting away
from the person
you once come to know
and have a hold of,
being a blur
to which now
you can only
call by "her."

i always
stare at my reflection
every time i see it
in front of a mirror.
i do not know
the ever stagnant person
in front of it anymore,
looking past it
with a stabbing,
disgusting horror.

it has already been
a ghost
without a name
standing
in front of me.
wanting
to reach it out
but i can't touch
what i only
now ought to see.
can't go back
to how she once
used to be.