of our past.
An unmade bed
a reminder of when
we were here last.
The discarded piece
of parchment
signifies my skin.
The ink my tears,
portraying the sadness
buried within.
Each penned stroke
twist and turns
across the page.
Just like your hurt
tore through my heart
with such rage.
The candle snubbed out,
like our love
it no longer burns.
And yet your touch,
taste and smell
my body still yearns.
My blood drips onto the floor,
my life will be gone soon.
The magic that was us,
banished by the
waning moon.
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@sjw
Opuss has given me a love of words and writing...
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Comments & Feedback (13)
This is beautiful, really beautiful. You have such a high standard of writing - if that doesn't sound weird XD
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