Terminal

I linger long after you've gone and watch the coming of the dawn, with crusted eyes from little sleep, a cross to bear, a wound too deep for me to cauterize or stitch, an all-consuming, scratchless itch that aggravates me to the core and cruelly whispers nevermore. A locket in my pocket and a tear-stained kerchief in my hand, emblems of a stillborn romance, listlessly I change my stance and wander mindlessly, my eyes fixed firmly on the ground, the skies are cold, the wind is gray, I never will forgive this day.