of grieving for themselves,

the boy lost the girl

as she lost his self.

realising Tsamchö knew at the start,

his way would cut short,

no time to bail out.

then serenity came,

went looking for the same,

dried in bits,

dosed up to her tits.

then there was steven,

his heart broke and his reason.

they still exist,

in the mist.

in the quiet of the hum

they beat their drum.

ghosts talking

like humans,

whatever will come.

plural is them not I,

even when I am them.

they are me,

and I see

not I.

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