Satin red stains my finger tips,
The feeling echoes from my skin.
Drips of a fountain consume me.
Trapped.
My heart yells out in pain.
Uttered in swirls of lies.
Painted words in black choke light.
I reach
Save it
Pushed away
Leave me
Lifeless body floating in water.
Eyes darker than black,
Stare at me.
Screaming.
From my own lifeless lips.
Pale and cold.

Closing in
On a deep thought,
Always there
To make me rot.
Never ending pain
That seems to burrow.
Oh my heart,
It fills with sorrow.
It spreads like fire,
In my heart it fills,
Consumed by desire,
Every moment it kills.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824)

Don't you remember the past?
That aching feeling,
Regret at last?

Overwhelming rage,
Numbing inside?
Burning that page
You can't hide?

Broken again?
The heart that misses,
Increasing pain,
Longing those kisses.

She remembers.