i pull her, inches towards me
closer, closer; i don't wanna breathe

and she struggles and her grasp loosens
and she's leaving now, and i'm in the same position

eyes to the floor, head bowed a little
trying not to cry from a heart so fickle
trying to muster a smile, but the tear, it trickles

"i love you" i whisper; she's gone and i'm too late
i hear her voice resound in my head; my shoulders are dead weight
her heart speaks a language only mine can translate

but it's foreign now, and my heart doesn't understand
she's changed and i've changed and i don't know her like the backs of my hands

and it's been three weeks now but the lump in my throat is still apparent
it's been five ******* weeks now but the world is still so transparent

why can i only see beauty when it's oozing out of her skin?
why can i only picture life without her as an odyssey of burden?

this is not an "i miss you" poem, even though i do
it isn't a plea or a beg or a self-piteous bunch of love spew

it's from one soul to the other
to one soul from a broken lover
(just to let you know) there will never be another
because there's no lightening without its thunder