The Haunting Residue

Red in the eyes,
Protrude, contrive.

Slide of sticks, coat glossy ice.

Count the lines of tracing skates,
That's how long you've been gone.

The rings around a tree bark,
So late it is, they continue to lap around.

Countless circle, after circle.
Your forest dissipating.

What's left? You say, your ghost.

Such a tasteless, restless soul.
You stole.

I dont want to be asked anymore questions.
I just want to go.