Empty and fragile my hands trace the last few memories of you.
Even the words you played before you left my insecure soul,
the way the sun danced on your face when you laughed.
And oh, the radiance they carried...

Do you still laugh like that or are they empty echoes like my eyes?
Do you still write or are your words all dried-up like my roses?
Or are you flying with the devils wings and painting the doors red?
Whatever you do, just remember the talent that lies in between your poetry filled veins.
And please remember that I once loved you, and you did too...