In the interim, I will be less.
I will be quieter, complacent, and empty.
I will take long baths locked behind a door
in silence.
In the interim, I will be smaller.
I will fit myself inside of a chair.
I will gather myself on a couch
wrapped in a quilt
in a ball
smaller and smaller.
I will wander through hallways unseen.
I will sleep in dark corners.
It isn’t enough to be something,
to fill up days with form and presence.
It isn’t enough to be a ghost.
I will be less than a ghost,
less than a shadow.
I will be a quiet, unseen, forgotten poltergeist
taking baths behind locked doors in darkness
and candlelight.
Not a sound.
I will fill up no space,
take up no time,
speak no words.
I will be nothing,
a no one,
a not somebody.
In the interim, I will disappear
and never be accounted for.
