Nostalgia Clinic

Nostalgia Clinic

I run a clinic
With one of my best friends
But the thing is
No one else seems to see him

Maybe it’s the thing
That’s burning in tin plates
Spread about the clinic
That foil their perception

Perhaps it enhances mine
So that I can see ghosts
Then this must mean
My best friend is an apparition

I don’t mind
He dips the best incense
Etheric and blue hands
Withdrawing sticks coated in scents

No vent for the smoke
No wind for fires to stoke
Just these chromed walls
Reflecting a fake sand floor

The dead all appear here
I used to know them all
And they come to this sacred place
My shattered nostalgia clinic

The vapors manifest into
People I once knew long ago
And now they’ve reappeared
To talk as ethereal trinkets

They come as dregs of undeath
Taken, and still breathing
They don’t talk about the other place
Why would they when they are here?

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