Part of me died when I lost her.
Part of me died when she wrote the first poem. It's just so much pain.
Part of me died when she looked at me and said "YOU can't take anymore?"
As if the thought that I was in pain was foreign to her.
I am broken.
Part of me died, with a noose around its neck.
I was in the garage, a rope to my left and a hook above me.
There was no time to think.
That part of me will never return.
I don't think any of them will.
I will always love her. Perhaps she will always feel the same.
But,
The part of me that has the strength to push on,
Died.
Choking
In
The
Air.