Blah 18

I asked her why she doesn't like photographs.

She said "there's no use in taking pictures in hell, we'll be here forever."

I responded with a cliche, "things get worse before they get better"

She told me "God beat her until visible bruises were her swetter"

And she, at this time, had felt warmer than ever.

I held her hand but she felt as cold as ever

Still it felt like it was the first time I met her

And I saw heaven in the whites of her eyes

But I saw me in the middle and felt my reflection

Was out of place.