I died on a Sunday.
My body numb from her words
Punctured in my heart .
Breathless. I could not inhale the change . I buried the pain and turned the page .
My life was traded with the unknown.
I mourned the loss of the future and not the past. Everything I had hoped for was ripped from my grasp .
That was the end of me .
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
I died on a Sunday.
My body numb from her words
Punctured in my heart .
Breathless. I could not inhale the change . I buried the pain and turned the page .
My life was traded with the unknown.
I mourned the loss of the future and not the past. Everything I had hoped for was ripped from my grasp .
That was the end of me .
Request permission to use this poem