As I walked through the thick, grey, lifeless mist,
I came upon a tombstone with your name.
Right here the smell of death did non persist,
but on the grass, your scent remained the same.

I feel in my cracked heart the times unseen
and yearn. I wish I could join your long sleep
in the uncut hair of the world. Still clean,
my soul will breath in grace while yours, left cheap,

will never taste the same. Your wrist bled life
that pooled on the clean tile of our floor.
But I did not find you, I found your knife,
It laid stained and covered in sanguine gore.

I stand above your grave with a white rose
and wonder if you cared. I don’t suppose.