You always complained to me
How I never held your hand tight enough.

My mother once told me,
That like the warm sand
On the summer beach,
The harder you hold onto something,
The faster it slips from your fist.

And maybe that’s why
When your hand
was in mine
I would never close my fingers.

An attire of cadaver obsidian
      hangs upon the expiration

of every fluctuation.

Weaving sorrow on every passing.


Considering the folly of her motionless
                                  endeavour.

Her garb falters and  decomposes
              below her narcistic

                                                pondering.


She is neither Earth or Air,
                but a decompaction of

reflections fading over time..

All the memories
moments I’ve had
are all fading to black
exchanged for sadness
and slowly forgotten

My shadow's seductive song
steers me into a comatose state,
as a deep slumber or senseless stupor
envelops me
...helpless...paralyzed
It starts to gnaw away
at what I thought was real.
leaving a murky thick blur,
that swallows
like the black rushing wave
of an absolute abyss.
Twisting dark spirals cluster,
as a pulsating pressure
thuds away urgently like a ticking
clock counting down the time

Slowly as I sink,
I embrace its cold peace
that's sweetly sweeps over me.

I know that what goes up
must come down.

I just didn't think that our love
would decline so rapidly..