Yearning the living, mourning the beginning,  

I hear your voice in the songs of birds singing.  

Down alleys and paths, of black and white roads,

Your sapphire apertures, heart filled with nodes.

I sonder and wonder, at what we could be,

If love wasn’t twisted, infested with flea.

I grieve at the grave of the ghosts from our past,

Swallowed by limerence and guilt of a ghast.

My heart wrapped in thorns, from stems of your rose,  

Piercing my arteries, my eyes start to close.

Reminiscing the life we once dreamed to have,

A future all planned out, left in the past.

Your whispers still linger, in the silence of night,

My body now frozen, your eyes out of sight.

Treading down a bleeding path, painting a picture with liquor from my veins.

I rest my head upon the branch of a tree, wilting away as the wind tears apart her oak core.  

I hear your voice in the drops of rain, drenching my shirt as your essence is washed away.

The moon, illuminating a shadow of what once was, pleading the voices of the night to free me from this everlasting nightmare.

Staring at an empty puddle, I see your face in my reflection.

The branches of the tree, grazing my neck, I feel the warmth of your lips touch my skin.

Your scent, lingering through my tears, framing my face the way your hands once did.

Holding you in my arms, squeezing you tightly and not letting go, I see the petals of roses, float down to my feet.  

Opening my eyes to see my arms bleeding.

Your beauty and warmth, piercing my skin with your hard-edged thorns.

Swimming in a puddle of rose-coloured yearning.

I lay under the mourning branch, deserted and void, the salt from my tears burning away at my skin.

I close my eyes and lay my hand out, letting the frost of the night, numb over my body.

Bleeding out, hoping one day you return to hold my frozen hand, pleading your warmth brings me back.