The Coldest Of Winters
On Sunday, I saw your eyes
flickering darkly behind the tears,
and I wanted to avoid your gaze
that shone so clearly in fear.
On Monday, I whispered hello
and you replied with hollow sound.
It sounded like a flightless bird
that never learned to leave the ground.
On Tuesday, I held your hand,
and I wanted to let you go -
I wanted to believe you were Summer,
but your fingers were made of snow.
On Wednesday, I hugged you close,
and I never wanted to again.
Your arms were prison bars
that stole the sunlight from my skin.
On Thursday, I kissed your lips,
and I learned you couldn’t be saved.
You held the future within your dreams,
but you slept within a grave.
On Friday, you stole my heart
and replaced it with blackened coal.
It erupted in wildfire flame
that consumed and devoured my soul.
On Saturday, you faded away
and told me a silent goodbye.
You stole the pen from my hand
and extinguished the lights in the sky.
On Sunday, I had caught your eye
and my fate was set in stone.
You made it so I’d have nothing left
but an empty chest of ivory bone