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.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2022
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