Murderers
Memories
are silent murderers,
Disguised
in late night thoughts,
And I am
a bruised dweller
to 'could've beens'
or 'what had beens'
at most,
For the echoes
of this place
we called past,
Weighs a ton--
sometimes too much,
Still they keep
on coming back,
Without earlier notice
or notes on a scratch,
But now
I have come to think,
That murderers
don't tell--
they only kill,
So if you see
my body lying still
without blood
but broken tears,
Please don't weep--
Just mourn for me.