Burial of my love

The last time I would ever think of him

my legs burned with the rage of my soul as it thrashed inside the shell of my tortured body. 

I missed the coldness of his chilled breath, 

and my limbs ached for the felt of his soft flesh. 

The death inside of me

brought decay to my bone and the pores of my skin. 

his death brought rot to my heart and disease to mind at the thought. 

i remember cold days of grey when he sat alone on our bed, 

never wanting to touch me

never wanting to touch life

then on other days when the sky was warm, and bright. he smiled even when it was just another bad day for him,

but he was thankful for the happiness

and he was appreciative of another day

even as he died slowly

even as he rotted in the inside

even as death had chewed him up and spit him out, waiting for the wounds to kill him. 

knowing his eyes could never gaze upon me

knowing his lips could never touch mine

knowing his body was just another rotting

knowing that i could never say i love you again

to him

was shattering

miserable

lonely

sick

sad

it

was

death.