ghostly follow
They don’t know
how his hands, so gentle in greeting,
grip too tightly in private.
How he seeks out younger women —
decade-wide gaps,
not for love, but for leverage.
Because women his age see the cracks,
the rot beneath the golden smile.
Because they’d never tolerate
his stunted soul,
his cowardice dressed in silk.
He plays a game stacked in his favor,
power dressed as romance,
knowing he’ll always win.
He told me once —
casual, cruel
“I could crush you if I wanted.”
What a prophecy.
He did.
And still, the town claps when he walks by,
not knowing the ghost of me trails behind him.
— Lux
