Hands made of silk, too silky
for a man's hands, he rubs his
fingers across the photo pondering
the thought of becoming who he once
used to be.
Lips cracked, tears welling up in his
eyes he flicks his lighter drawling it closer
to corner of the body.
Melting slowly a slight breeze circles around
him, taking ashes of the memory up into that
endless sky.
Sobbing horribly he tries to save the little
bit left of the memory. His once soft silky
hands now tainted with his uncontrollable
misery he lifts up his gun aiming it towards
his temples which beat from his disease.
A voice rings out from up ahead
please don't do it I am here baby and
I'll never leave again.
He starts to lower the gun, yet he knows
deep in his heart his life was
already at its end.
While looking at the piece of photo
that still lay on his desk, those emerald
eyes blink as the gun is brought back to
his head.
The gunshot rang loud as he falls to
his desk, those emerald eyes still
watching the little piece of his life
he wish he could have.
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