Ribbons wrap your letters
Left beside my bed side
That will never see the light

Inside their envelopes
Lie words that you would write
Striving to get better

Each line a new rhyme
Scrawled scrolls for my eyes
Transcribed by a scribe

Not trying to make me cry
Or regret all this time
But my cheeks become wetter

Do not pry my fingers
From the last threads of life
Plucked straight from your sweater

It is you who is deader than I

It is within the flowers of evil
That beauty can lie
Amongst forces of the dark,
Ugly in their untouched form,
Yet, once explored,
Such an alluring thought
To look inside.
And perhaps that attention
Will lead to one's demise
As the petals rest, detached,
Core completely exposed,
Human drunk on its nectar;
Beginning to fade away.

You are not yet gone
But one long, faraway day
I shall stand alone

That, I do not want,
Yet I will not keep you from
Exiting this house

It will be your choice
To leave me, desert my likes,
With wind as your ghost

Without company,
Your presence especially,
I will live to rot

Bones will burn like coal
And my heart will turn to dead,
The flames stoked no more

In ash arises
A new form that I've not seen,
Reincarnation

The young phoenix breathes,
No longer heavily heaves,
The fresh oxygen

It is no longer
Afraid of death, conjured as
Sparks amongst their chest

Feathers glistening,
It leaves its birthing mantel
So to fly adrift

And maybe one day
We shall reunite again
But for now I wait

I can not vouch for purity,
For innocence,
Since blood streaks tainted my cheek;
Bullet wound in my chest,
Shot as either a glare or stare
From thine eyes to the weak

Carve my stiff skin
With sticks of lead
My wounds have bled enough
I'm numb so go ahead
And taint me til I'm dead

The rain is not forged
As I would hope your tears would be
Running down your once rosy cheeks
That have been tinted blue
By me

It was among the sunset that our eyes met,
I had expected a cold blue or the green of leaves,
But instead, all that returned my glance
Was all the same as what I was used to,
A brown; not fierce nor bland nor bold,
But strange, in a sense, that it was so normal
Yet so compelling.

It has been twenty years
Since last those eyes met mine
And I often wonder
If the ghost in my shell
Might ever see
The sunset again;

Without your eyes to distract me.