Red and purples thrash across the open sky,
Leaving nothing of the blue that used to fill my life.
I look down at the notebook on the table covered by scribblings,
Turn the pages and start to wonder if I was really the person who wrote these.
If I was the person who connected pen to paper and created these abominations.
If I was the one who disgraced the expression of human emotion.
I have failed you, my love.
Exactly how you told me I would,
And yet all of this happened because of my attempts to try and stop the inevitable.
I am a failure and should be treated as such.
I close my eyes for a while longer than a normal blink.
Then look up,
And the entire sky has been consumed by red,
Leaving no trace that it was ever any different.