Sometimes, upon when I lay my head
Atop a pillow, I will see the edges of your form
Taking shape at the foot of my bed.
I see the tears that begin to float
Away from my eyes,
And you’d catch them, with hands open for their approach.
What will you say
When the day comes,
When you will see me alive, only clinging to life
By a narrow thread?
What shall you feel
Upon when the day arrives
To see me come home
To a nest full of embers, as my only abode?
I see you as the edges, at the end of a world where we had nestled,
And my blood grows cold
At the sight of you, merging in with the greenish mold.
The decay of a place,
Has left me without a trace, of where to cast a solid stone.