I reveled in the smell of sulphur like that of a struck match. Then I remembered I gave up smoking 2 years ago.

I saw everything you did to me, the cut of the knife, red blood dripping down my legs, my heart beating in your fist. Yet the only intact thing they retrieved from the shallow grave was the blindfold.

You touched me lightly on the shoulder, I thought you woke me for a kiss. Then I remembered I already kissed you before they closed the coffin lid, 6 months ago.

I always smile when you speak to me in German. It's the last language you learned before you died in 1942.

My dog is always able to tell me when we weren't alone, he'd wag his tail in Hello or he would growl when a stranger was near by. He's growling now, even though he died, a year ago.

I screamed at the oncoming light! I wasn't frightened until I realised you had tied me upon the railway tracks.

I wanted to wear my Mothers wedding dress. Even I can't remove the dirt stains.

I sit in the corner of our bedroom staring at our bodies entwined. I see you tilt to the side, to text message your girlfriend, while I'm oblivious.

They used to embed bells above ground for those that may have been buried alive. Mine is missing its ringer so I just continue to scream.

I removed all the trees from the side of the house. Still the scratch at the window keeps me awake.

Married in White, Buried in Black. I continue seeing you in shades of Gray.