They tried to tear you from my brain,
But my heart wouldn't let you go,
Although I may have forgotten your name,
Butterflies in me remember you so.

The grief consumes me from within,
As I run my fingers on the soil,
Six feet above your stone-cold heart.

I've lost the burning in my fingers,
The spark within my soul,
The light in my eyes that lingers,
When a fire ravishes me whole.

My words have been driven away,
Replaced by derivatives and sines,
My erratic thinking and impulsive way,
Ridiculed by logical lines.

Slowly, my mind has been eroded,
Pounded, molded and reformed,
Until my eyes are totally blanked,
And my essence is forever lost.

For now my pen no longer moves,
In hurried chicken scratch,
But rather, in uniformed loops,
Making a perfect black stitch.

Take me under your wing,
Shield me from prying eyes.