Faint Echo of a Dead Ego

Find myself sleeping in the shade of my own shadow.
Where the dream of her and me and what we used to be always seems to find me.
In color schemes of green grey.
And the faint echo of a dead ego slithers by and withers away into the blackened clouds and cold winds of her heart.
The cold winds and black clouds swallow up and spit out all the missed romances and burnt bridges I end up on the wrong side of.
But tomorrow the clouds may be a bit brighter with a lighter wind