I'm standing here,
My limbs are shaking,
I can hear my teeth rattling like the sound of a plastic Halloween skeleton blowing in the night air.
Speaking of, the wind is crisp,
It sends a message of ice down my spine.
It dances it's way into my lungs,
I'm breathing it in like cigarette smoke on an early morning.
My insides are slowly working like churning of thickened ice cream ,
And when I look at you it feels like the sudden drop of a bowling ball that has soon to land on a wooden floor in an empty room.
My eyes have leaked but the sprig is now frozen to my cheeks. My skin tingling with each crumpled movement of my face, slight sounds of my dried tears cracking is like the stepping on of thin frost on dewy grass.
I am cold but I will stand here.
My body is cold but your memory keeps me warm,
you're worth it,
I will stand in this cemetery if it means I can share some more moments with you.

I write stories on my sleeve
Silent novels carved into my arm
Quick
Sometimes d r a g g e d out
All melancholy with the hope for happiness.
The different variety of length is on me.

I am a library,
My words are written for the public to see,
Shelves upon shelves,
displaying biographies of my tragedies.
But my stories result in cliffhangers
when I roll down my sleeve.

Your heart was weak but the strength your love brought kept it big.
Your body deteriorated slowly but your soul kept you animated.
Your personality was knitted together with love and affection.
Cleared away hate.
Stopped fears.

You were incredible,
Genuine,
Pure.

You were too good for the cruelties of the world and yet you still welcomed it with open arms.
What should have been considered ugly you found the art in it to make beauty.
You deserved everything but you gave away anything to better people.
Your love was unbearable but forever craved.
You were what was right in the existence that is man.

Who you were was greatly admired.
The person you made yourself,
that left a mark on the small world I call my own,
inspired me to be like you.