You have made me a ghost in my own life,
the words empty mirrors.
I move through your chameleon rooms,
the windows are high with open mouths.

I eat the shadows,
hungrily practicing my invisibility.
The lies you twist around me
taste salty on my tongue.
I dissolve in your mouth,
walk through the walls of your countries.

My breath is as thin as ice,
my lungs full of snowflakes.
I float softly across borders,
my suitcase holds nothing but ash.
I have inhaled the smoke of my own name,
it makes my eyes sting.

I skate over the surface of your stories,
try not to hear you cracking.
I melt under the heat of your ambiguity,
your world of icicles, the perfect murder,
the last frozen alibi.

I am your Turkish delight,
the undoing of memory.
You slide from black to white,
the small details, a question of emphasis,
the exchanging of secrets.

I never knew you were such a talented magician,
and yet I fear this time I will not reappear.

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