Sometimes, the thought of you brings a bout
Of unprecedented, palpable, anguish.
So visible and unveiled,
I touch it and I bleed.
Sometimes, missing you is
Like swallowing broken glass.
Clear shards that rip my flesh
Draws blood and
Ignites a white pain,
Seething and choking and blinding.
Tonight it is warm,
the air is heavy with summer,
With laughter and blessings
And memories. Reminiscence.
My eyes are orbs,
Glassy with tears and
Stinging with the force of
Grief? Or regret.
The breeze is tinged with
Your laughter and
Every time I inhale,
It aches.
An ache that runs deep
It twists in my gut
Like a knife that
Clenches and drains
Everything good from within.
My hands are frail
I grip in them a
Photograph; of you and I
We are young, carefree
Wild and happy-
That moment was captured
And now it burns,
It's embers are the sunset
It's cinders are etched within.
Now, there is no peace-
You are silent in the grave
And I am silent in grief.
I suppose the
novelty of life wore off
Once I had lost
Everything;
Now in this summer
Evening, I
Sit alone and seemingly
Unaware that my life
Is billowing by,
And the years will run like
The stream in which
Your youth drowned.
Grief is an intoxicant,
That I crave and love
And fear and hate.
The sun seethes,
Smiling a polished smile,
Razing down my hope for
A happy, fulfilling
Life.
What life?
I pluck from the bush,
That mother tended to for
Endless summers,
A rose.
Bloodied and yet pure,
It nestles into my finger like
I propose to it a throne,
Of some twisted kind.
It reminds me of,
Your charisma
And joy that once
Shone in vibrant rays
Like the ****** sun does today,
Your beauty that emanated,
In beams and stunned all who saw,
And now these rays of charisma,
And these beams of beauty,
Are hushed.
Still, alone, and quiet.
Like you.
Like I.
And this nightmare
Dressed like a daydream,
Rages before my eyes.
This solitary rose,
That sat ever so dainty,
And gorgeous between
My frail hands,
Begins to wilt.
It's crimson hue,
Like love and honour,
Turns grey, and black
Loses its life and
Before my eyes another
Unfinished life is
Snatched. Torn. Stolen.
I wonder if,
Your soul came to say goodbye
In that mere rose that I
Watched wilt and wither.
As though whilst
Each petal waved farewell
And floated to the soil with
Their brethren,
You too were,
Wishing me goodbye.
I let the tears flow now,
Heavy and unforgiving,
Weighing me down,
Granting me peace and
Wrapping my thin neck
In a noose of pain,
A loving embrace.
So this,
Is goodbye?
I feel not,
The promised elevation
Of forgiveness and release
Instead the
Ceaseless throb of
Darkness and grief.
But she came,
She came to say goodbye,
And that is all I ever needed,
All I prayed for,
Begged for,
Goodbye.
One last,
Goodbye.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
Sometimes, the thought of you brings a bout
Of unprecedented, palpable, anguish.
So visible and unveiled,
I touch it and I bleed.
Sometimes, missing you is
Like swallowing broken glass.
Clear shards that rip my flesh
Draws blood and
Ignites a white pain,
Seething and choking and blinding.
Tonight it is warm,
the air is heavy with summer,
With laughter and blessings
And memories. Reminiscence.
My eyes are orbs,
Glassy with tears and
Stinging with the force of
Grief? Or regret.
The breeze is tinged with
Your laughter and
Every time I inhale,
It aches.
An ache that runs deep
It twists in my gut
Like a knife that
Clenches and drains
Everything good from within.
My hands are frail
I grip in them a
Photograph; of you and I
We are young, carefree
Wild and happy-
That moment was captured
And now it burns,
It's embers are the sunset
It's cinders are etched within.
Now, there is no peace-
You are silent in the grave
And I am silent in grief.
I suppose the
novelty of life wore off
Once I had lost
Everything;
Now in this summer
Evening, I
Sit alone and seemingly
Unaware that my life
Is billowing by,
And the years will run like
The stream in which
Your youth drowned.
Grief is an intoxicant,
That I crave and love
And fear and hate.
The sun seethes,
Smiling a polished smile,
Razing down my hope for
A happy, fulfilling
Life.
What life?
I pluck from the bush,
That mother tended to for
Endless summers,
A rose.
Bloodied and yet pure,
It nestles into my finger like
I propose to it a throne,
Of some twisted kind.
It reminds me of,
Your charisma
And joy that once
Shone in vibrant rays
Like the ****** sun does today,
Your beauty that emanated,
In beams and stunned all who saw,
And now these rays of charisma,
And these beams of beauty,
Are hushed.
Still, alone, and quiet.
Like you.
Like I.
And this nightmare
Dressed like a daydream,
Rages before my eyes.
This solitary rose,
That sat ever so dainty,
And gorgeous between
My frail hands,
Begins to wilt.
It's crimson hue,
Like love and honour,
Turns grey, and black
Loses its life and
Before my eyes another
Unfinished life is
Snatched. Torn. Stolen.
I wonder if,
Your soul came to say goodbye
In that mere rose that I
Watched wilt and wither.
As though whilst
Each petal waved farewell
And floated to the soil with
Their brethren,
You too were,
Wishing me goodbye.
I let the tears flow now,
Heavy and unforgiving,
Weighing me down,
Granting me peace and
Wrapping my thin neck
In a noose of pain,
A loving embrace.
So this,
Is goodbye?
I feel not,
The promised elevation
Of forgiveness and release
Instead the
Ceaseless throb of
Darkness and grief.
But she came,
She came to say goodbye,
And that is all I ever needed,
All I prayed for,
Begged for,
Goodbye.
One last,
Goodbye.
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