To love you, there is no other choice
But to ultimately kill you.
To look at you and think
"Yes, you're dead."
To wear black all day,
In memory of your life.
To burn your picture,
And every single thought of you.
To get drunk on alcohol
As if tomorrows
Never came.
To cry in pillows
Muffle the sobs within
And suffer.
To wonder if maybe
If you had simply just changed
A small fragment
Within you
Everything would have changed.
But now, here you are.
Drunk beneath the covers,
Lamenting the future for which
Happily ever afters prove to be
Ever further apart.
And every time, she
comes along,
stop.
remember.
she's supposed to be dead.
YOU ARE READING
It (#Wattys2016)
Poetry| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
