I'm dying.

The words escaped my lips

Hushed like a whisper

Pressed against his ear

Dripping like Northern December.


I can't be dying

I preach to myself

Sitting on our cold wood floor

The window glares at me

And birds stare like I'm a dragon.


I should be dying.

I don't deserve this,

His kind grey eyes gaze into mine

Like he's watching the stars.


I'm just dying.

The brick wall leans against me

As I fight a losing battle with reality

And his arms hold me close

While rain drenches my limp red hair.


I'm dead

I've done nothing

And regret everything

I know there are knots in his stomach

His heart aching for one last grasp

The same grasp I wish for now

A touch neither of us has the pleasure to feel

Now that I'm gone.