Should I have known to slow the funeral
Upon arriving to it?
When seeing your form, in a state of no tomorrow,
I breathed a sigh that revealed the cold,
And gave my grief my hat to hold.
Your form is as lifeless as the winter, with no shadow to show.
Because, the sun has bled its last into the final petal.
Life has won me over, by a selfish expression
Of miserable gratitude.
And beauty has saw itself fit to leave me behind.
I confuse, at times, love with beauty.
And say to myself,
“I am not beautiful,”
When I should say,
“I am no longer loved.”
I reveal myself,
As easily as I despise myself.
My face, it aches,
My heart, it breaks.