[poem] Tormenting reprise

A wince-inducing poem about an ex-lover. We all owe one, right? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some context to explain the embedded imagery: Living in the same university dormitory, I came to know a unique knock on my bedroom door, and their pitch-perfect whistling down the staircase. Like all passionate relationships among emotionally unequipped teenagers, it ended. Beds, to phones, to nothing. For good measure, I was tormented by unwelcome, nostalgic dreams which threatened to keep me hung up, and keep me awake in protest. And this went on far too long for an adult supposedly not fond of being miserable every other day. This poem began as a codified plea to my closest friends to keep her name unheard and unspoken, but during writing, became itself an attempt at catharsis. I like to think it worked.

From cheek-filled smiles, tight embraces, 
gentle tapping through the door
to teary telephonic vying 
voices pleading "are you sure?".
No more would waking mean mistaking 
morning yawns for song; forsaking
venturing beyond; taking for 
granted every soft kiss planted.

Now, instead, upright in bed, two 
tight clenched arms outwardly reach
and in the darkness, wrangle, strangling 
ghostly necks of ghouls beseeched
to haunt and rouse from drowse hijacked; 
invading gentle taps attack;
unhouse my dozing narrator and 
render me insomniac.

I'm sleeping lightly; weeping nightly; 
leaving lately lit lamps throwing
shadows over weary walls and 
eyes, fixated; searching glowing
screens for scenes which in between 
each whimper, simpler sorrows bring
a brief relief from greater grief, 
beneath preparing morning's sting.

Then up, ensuring bags don't show.
Unsure of woe's kept camouflage.
Assuring though, to every new
relationship's ult sabotage.
Enduring wistful wandering,
distracting day dreams. Squandering
each chance to re-evoke romance,
and none for mopey maundering.

Enough! If help of poltergeists
is priced at five years yearning, earning
undiscerning poems, turning
bedmates back to unconcerning
strangers; scrap the whole affair.
I'll damn my dreams myself, and daren't
sleep if creeping in, come illeg-
itimate concessionaires.

Expelling treasured portraits, over-
seeing cherished film's erase
and from my mind, expunging every
trace of the offending face.
Declaring war when aired, are more
nostalgic propogandas, scored 
by perfect whistling choirs, screening
nightmares shot in sophomore.

Each time her name, in stupor, came 
clumsily tumbling out, begetting
tearful ends, dear friends, amend
through surreptitiously forgetting.
Blue outbursts; to bury. Longing
sighs; decry. Flogging to follow
every woeful wallow. Sorrow's
wrenching grip to firmly pry.

And soon enough, once toughened, sturdied;
curing of the curse contracted.
Fervent feelings fettered; poems
ended 'bruptly; names redacted.
When at last, a peace - with every
longing part deceased - at least
by then I can pretend again
I've forgotten