I sit here with tear stained cheeks
and a pale face,
typing with shaking fingers in the dark night,
straining a mind consumed with pain to think
of words that no longer sound too foolish
or too youthful.
my heart pounds hard in my chest,
but I no longer feel it
knowing it will only beat for a while more.
my shallow breaths prepare for my final exhalation,
and the warmth in my physique diminishes
to winter once again.

What can I write about a dying girl
who had perished so many years ago?
nothing, honestly.
I sit here, lamenting the loss of someone
I used to know.
the reflection that I saw in the mirror every morning,
the face I used to paste a smile on every day,
the very skin I used to rip apart.
she had died somewhere,
in the midst of all that suffering.
and no one knew I was merely the walking embodiment of her.

And that is why
with icicles for fingers
and a hollow chest where my heart was
I write an elegy
for someone I used to love,
yet could never bring back.
as I am dying
just as she once was.