It has been four years,
and I'm still an antidepressant away
from completely losing my mind.
The roses on your grave
have all deteriorated and died.
My heart has a hole
where you're meant to be.
And maybe that place
has been dead for awhile.
I can't even cry,
because there are no tears left.
You stole them away
when you took your last breath.
I screamed, did you know?
It was a new kind of pain,
not one I was used to.
I was led down some path.
It was dark and all twisted.
I couldn't get out; I was eaten alive.
These scars remind me
that this is not my imagination.
If I could rip out my heart,
I would give it to you.
Just to see what it would be like
to say goodbye.
Would you still love me
if you saw me these days?
Or would you turn your back
like everyone else?
It's been four long years,
but you're always on my mind.
It's like a knife in the gut,
twisting and turning.
Your face haunts my dreams,
but it's slowly fading.
Soon it will be forgotten;
a small glimmer in the breeze.
But a small voice will remind me
you are somewhere,
resting with ease.