I do not dream of you anymore.
No longer do you inscribe your insignia upon my chest,
and suffocate me when I strive to breath.
You are no longer the violent vehemence of the sea,
but the fog as it dissipates between my fingertips.
No longer do I need poems,
to express how I feel.
You offered me words,
when there were none.
And I suppose I will always be thankful for that.
But you are no longer the ghoul beneath my fingernails,
or the ghost that lingers in the blinds in the morning.
I have found my own sunlight without you.
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