I am the ghost though they say you are dead.
A brain composed of stardust won’t rot.
Those bones stacked underground I pled
for you to take survived only to be forgot.
My body was buried before yours would breathe
though I clawed through six feet, compacted dirt
toward a whisper of death already grieved.
The provocation for haunting is hurt.
My spirit’s entangled with yours on some star
while my bones mimic youth in a grave.
You once made a map of my private scars.
No one was found, discovered or saved.
The curious natures of alien girls
is ephemeral in these primitive worlds.
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