The flowers withered on your tomb long ago,
Long ago did I stop caring, long ago loving you.
Now sorrow rises in my chest, heaving through
Ribs and lungs, and it will be my death, my foe.
My eyes have turned to frost, earth to sea deep.
Not even tears could break to flood my fortress,
Yet now it's crumbling as senses rise from sleep
And the waters draw back for me to see this mess.
There's nothing to forgive, the fault is in no one.
All that's left is a hopeless wish for more time,
A prayer no god will ever hear in the cold stone,
And regrets which no blood or tears will grime.
Both too far, the clouds are between you and me,
And this wild honey thread has melted in the heat.
The water I slipped on was your sadness, a cry,
For help, you never meant to send in your defeat.
I tripped into your tomb, headfirst into the dirt,
On broken roots tearing my heart and my skin.
And you clutched my arms so hard that it hurt,
All the while telling me to leave you to your sin.
I knew the tale of every single one of your stars,
Yet still I left you, angered by your false hatred,
Blind to the fact you needed me to heal your scars,
And that had I tried you would've been saved.
The waters swirl when I think of those days,
But in my memory one thing will ever be clear:
You and I were both the same in many ways,
And left ourselves victims of our common fear.
Like a serpent you charmed them with your lies
But we saw through each other's adamantine walls,
I struck you down, deaf to your resonating cries,
And you drowned me in my own mournful calls.
AN: I was looking through some old photos, and found one of an old
'friend'. This poem is complicated, and probably makes no sense to any but
me. . . but I needed to get this out of me. . . I'm sorry if the poem seems
cheesy, the true story hardly is.