I don't remember who it was, but I remember someone once said
That life is fragile and that that in itself
Has an admirable beauty,
That just as a butterfly lives little more than a few days
Or how a glass smashes when dropped,
So does a human life, in it's own time.
And for a while, I believed that person.

I believed that the idea that we could lose it all at once was romantic
Because I had never experienced it myself.
But she did.
And now I know, it's not a beautiful sorrow
That is passed along,
Like the last song of a dying bird,
But it's painful,
It's blood-red
And it rips you apart from the inside out
Until you can't see ahead anymore,
Your focus left stuck on the scraps of what once was,
What you used to have.

It traps you and reels you in
As you drown,
Not only in your own heartache and grief,
But that of those around you
And it makes you it's slave.

We humans have the strength to pull ourselves from it's cold grip,
Until that moment,
That last breath, groan, cry of pain,
Not a song with a melancholy melody,
And she whispers

I love you

As you tell her

It will be okay,
It will be okay,
It will be okay

And then her eyes grow cold
And her grip loosens,
And you see the life leave her body
As doves do from their cage
And you feel the cold, wiry fingers grasp at you again,
The metallic point of the nails
Clawing at you, digging into your skin
And this time,
You let it consume you
Because what are you without her?