Words no longer flow like music in my head,
The ink has dried up in all of my pens, and
my pencils lay heavy in my hands like lead. I had sharpened
my wit but it nicked you and you bled, your ghost is all I get.
I hearken to your moans as if you are ******* to my bed.
Your voice is embedded in my brain, haunting every ounce of gray.
And your visage clouds my eyes up with an inevitable rain.

Gripping tightly to your essence only to be left empty-handed.
A muse to madmen- I’m in pain without your presence.
My creativity expired when you lost your effervescence
and Death placed a tired hand over your eyes and
wished your slumber to be pleasant.

-SLuR