The memory of you has carved itself deep within my heart,
never to be swept away or disturbed until the end of days,
when everyting slides into the void of eternity, mercifully.

Your ghost still materializes sometimes,
and it reminds me of my need to suffer;
I become less complete with each passing day.

All of the ghosts choose their days,
and roar with the voice of broken love,
shaking my soul to its rusted core.

I cough up blood and chunks of oxizidized metal,
until I am heaving for your forgiveness,
that will never come to ease the pain.

The wuthering heights we achieved with passion,
became deadly windfalls in our aftermath,
ascension seemed so pure, but now reeks of shit and hell,
and I’m left to wallow in the death of us, alone.

July 14, 2009