I touch her dressing gowns they're cold,
I touch her pyjamas they're cold,
I run my hand across her hanging rails of undisturbed clothes,
I touch her pillow undented by her sleeping head our bed is cold,
the torment of loss, despairing through the passing months
I fool myself and others my life goes on, a parody of existence
becoming more transparent as I fade away,
my life like hers is over