Even in death,
Tears will still trace the hollow curve of my cheek,
An eternal river, untouched by time or decay.

Even in death,
My blood, now but a memory,
Will have withered into silence.
My flesh, a crumbling relic,
Peels away from the marrow,
Each fragment of me scattered into the dust,
And still
Tears,
Will stain the remnants of what once was,
Slipping from eyes that no longer see,
Drifting into oblivion,
A haunting echo of all that was lost.

Even in death,
In the hollowed chambers of my chest,
Where nothing lives,
Where no heartbeat dares to sound,
Tears will continue to fall,
As if they, too, are cursed to never rest.