His Photograh

 

My eyes tighten as I held on to his picture

I’m losing hope with every step I grip, I trip

Missing fates helping hand, it’s sad

I’ve too much time on my hands

To think of nothing else but the end

My mind is a trembling lip

A trace of red paints down my face

Danger sits, cornered me into a dark place

Cutting my neckline to grow inside my emptiness  

Bleeding me of life that was only a fantasy     

His photograph strikes the mirror

Shattering glass passes through my tears

Bleeding them of their beauty, skin deep

Desperation drills at my bone density

Taking all I can take I light fire to his face

Light fire to the love that screamed beauty

I’ve too much time on hands

To sweep through dreams that will never be

Push my heartache back inside my ribcage

Letting my lips tremble for the night

Until the next morning where I weep to face reality