The leaves of the trees
Shrivelled and dead
The sound of your voice
Echoes in my head

Cold September morning
Sepia toned city
Another sweet whisper
Self-inflicted pity

I cry myself to sleep
Mausoleum doors swing
Erase this memory
The pain, deeply it stings

Face down in the dirt
Feeling so alone
All I feel is silence
I’m never coming home