Souvenirs

White Clawing its way out of your eyes, Fear, Leaving behind only sour Bitter bleak brilliant Memories Of what you used to be. Not a person, A body Sustained by the past It being your electricity. A voice slithering in your mind Narrating your days With things from before Throwing your souvenirs at you As you plead Beg Hope it will stop. Carmine nails clutching At the place where your heart should be Bent over The floor absorbing your pain The tears. Burning this page slowly, Gold flecks Leap into you, Skipping under your veil of hurt For once Not the gold of those city lights That once shone for brightly for The two of you. Rising hope fills your skin, You don't want to ask him to dance again, Perhaps catch him in a dream, Weary now, Restless for something new.