I remember when we thought
ourselves immortal.
That we two, me and you,
could stand the test of time.
While once I built monuments to our passions,
carved your name into stone
and into every bone I possess,
I find myself digging graves
instead of planting flowers
and no-one expected any less.

With each poem that I write for you,
I am just throwing another ***** of dirt
upon the casket we share.
A box that contains nothing and no-one,
but empty promises and filthy air.

I find myself beyond even my own care.
With one eye open and one eye shut
I watch the castles we built crumble
stumble upon the broken glass that used to be my innocence.

Let the morning rain clear these streets
my mistakes and my sinnings,
wash away
this sense of decay
and make way for new beginnings.