My legacy stands only as a testament
to a blind struggle.
To a war both won and lost.
A martyr to loyalty,
I've sculpted my tombstone
with my bare hands
in another's image
so I could sleep soundly underneath it.
A thousand eyes on me
and none would reflect my stare.
So much warmth in my hands
and only empty space in my grasp.
Now only dust collects on my coffin
to signify the passing of time.
I traced a pair of initials
so I could see us together one last time
and leave a halfhearted footprint
like my face in your dreams.
a place for which I paid handsomely
and I'd make it my home
if you would have me.
So that each time you blink
my stare would be reciprocated.
Seeing directly into a memory of my eyes
forgiveness would never look back.