In still frames and photographs,
I still see your eyes light up,
they're not faded like today.

I see you vibrant and laughing,
a sweet grin as you say my name,
"Stop sweetie, I don't look good."  You mumbled,
and I begged to differ,
felt my hands shiver,
You always looked good...

With your long hair in a bun,
that white sweater of mine-
was way too big,
the way it always wrapped you in the
scent of my cologne,
the safeness of home,
and the way you giggled
as I pretended you were a delicious truffle,
playfully as if I were a pig,
and lovingly nibbled your ear.

Back when "you" were still here.

And then you began to drift,
across an impasse,
a weight too heavy for me to lift.
and you spun your golden feathers,
across time and space,
drug induced and broken,
a shattered masterpiece,  
your life: a waste.