A visitor

All the people I have loved,
are always with me
in the cavities of my chest
Like drums behind a bloodred curtain
Like heartbeats pounding out
the stories of memory,
neverending.
It wasn't me! I object, who drank the wine
and continued to drink
until the musicians on the stage became angels,
and the people all around were devils,
It wasn't me alone,
almost running into parked cars and trees
on my bikeride home.
It wasn't my laughter, swearing, or tears,
It was a ghost,
a vistor who's lost,
a stranger when she drinks.