Your love is different;
It killed me some previous lives ago,
And I was reborn to be killed again.

Crooked
shadows, lonely figures
yellowed pages, splotched ink
broken promises littering nostalgic
lanes down the river of green and grey.
Reduced to these pile of letters some drizzle later
dusty, wet, and so so bitter.

I try to remember all of it.
I try.
I try, but most of it doesn't make sense.
I try harder.
I try to think about what I did wrong.
I try other things, other angles.
I try not to give up.
Because I know that if I do, I'll lose my meaning.
"You.. are my quest." We used to say.
But at some point we lost our way.
I think about it every single day.
And now there's no other way
than to try.
I try.

Beneath the garden
shed, her bones bleed
Without much notice of
decay.

Smells of rotten garbage
Permeated the building
Of her demise
Without much notice of
isolation.

Souless, lifeless carcass
Becomes her as she loses
Unconsciousness beneath the
Rotting soil.

And the malevolence
Took over.