the ghost disappears for good

What will you do once I’ve stopped looking to you for praise through

the apologies you only receive

as a clean house

What will you do once I stop asking

“What do you do for work,” and

“How do I wash the stains

off my shirt?”

What will you do now

that the walls placed markings

of when I outgrew my wish

where I expect that my apologies

would stop becoming a pitiful face

that manipulates you to care

Your apologies

is a hand against my hair

that is seared with the traces of the same fingers

that apologized 10 times before.

What will you do once I stop calling back,

looking for sparks in your eyes,

for me

What will you do when I spite

the eyebrows, eyelashes

and hands you bore, praying for perfection

Can you keep on ignoring me

once the weight of a silent room

finally sound out that I’m no longer there

wishing for you to console me?