I open my eyes, look up at the clock,
which now, unbeknownst to me,
ticks backwards.

I sigh, gazing at the window,
only to be met with the sun
setting like a stranger,
unwilling to share its grief
as it had done before,
with its awry, dark clouds
and tear-streaked face.

The flower pressed
between the pages of a book I once read,
now lay wilted.

It was, I reckon
too late to realize,
the stars that once graced the nights,
now were lifeless and forgotten.

Glancing down at my bloodstained hands,
and the hollow shell of a person
that once bore my name,
my piteous heart dripped
with forlorn anticipation.

It was then,
when I heard the whispered hums of a dirge,
the very disdain coating my guilt,
That I had once vowed to purge.

From the start,
it wasn’t the wilted flower,
or the lifeless stars,
that were dead--
it was me,
the person who I was before.

I sometimes hope
in the midst of wakeful nights,
that the peace we all look for
is perhaps something like
a kind, quiet embrace
where I can close my eyes,
letting my mind go blank
and step into a world of solace.

I hope that it would feel
like the soft crackle of fire
on a harsh, winter night,
the warmth consoling the cold
I've felt for decades;

Or perhaps that it's the quiet hum
of a lullaby I once knew by heart,
and allows me to slip
into the blurred lines
between life and eternal rest.

As tears pour out relentlessly,
a cold ember of desperation
fills my aching lungs,
desperate for a fraction of warmth
that the once lit flame provided.

The water pulls me in deeper,
scattering the pathetic remnants
of the depths of devotion,
that ache for you.

And as sunken eyes
akin to the bequeathed stars above,
call out your name through the
torments veiled by moonlit waters,

The silent sea cradles
what now are just chronicles,
of my drowning woe.

As the ephemeral night passes on,
flourishing beneath the moon's luminescence,
the will to survive in this constant place
referred to as 'home',
goes along with it.

Just close your weary eyes
and feel the demise
become one with your veins,
as your heart drips
with transcended oblivion.

The feelings you once harboured
have now departed from the shore,
the forgotten waves
coming to an unavoidable end.

To drown in your sirenic gaze
is what I yearn for the most,
even if it leads to my
inevitable undoing.

I yearn to forget
these strokes of ancient paintings,
that decorate my soul
with the triumphs of
unidentified feelings.

The carefully carved muse
that once lived in my mind;
now drips in reverie, one by one,
as silence takes over its reign.