was it the thread around my finger
that cut too deep
leaving a small ring shaped scar
in place of slight hope
every thought carved intricately
into my brain
the ink spread out and into whom
it once was
now dancing before my eyes again
a smoky figure
of something that used to be love
but ceased existence
the light that illuminated from ahead
has set behind
so all that was known and cherished
is vague and black