Gasoline: a poem

Staff Writer
Your ghost visited me today.
                                         There was white on your knuckle
                And blood on your lips.
                You were staring at me through a haze of smoke,
                                         Breathing ashes and memories
                Like I was the only thing you’d ever known.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I pleaded. “I said I was sorry.”
You wiped the grime from your palms and looked at me
                                        “Coward,” you said and then you vanished
                                          just like you did before.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you
             That I didn’t know about the wars you waged against yourself
                                        That I couldn’t keep all my promises.
By the time we met, it was already too late.
You were always drowning in gasoline and broken dreams,
                    Never careful of the match you’d lit between your teeth.