Without her numbered days



a short poem about loss and the devastating effects it has on others. there are plenty of hidden meanings to find.


Truth burns more than the explosive sun

Hated truths that make us run

Explain to us, again, the gun


Remind us once more

Every graceful pain she felt before

I found her lovely, rotten corpse


Shred our silken skin to ribbons

Never find what’s always hidden

Originally blissfully imprisoned


Her flesh absorbed this before her death

Outrageous panic took her gentle breath

Pains she meant to leave us as debt


Emotions she forgot we can’t mend

Flames she left us to be condemned

On the frigid nights that never end


Ruining every chance we have at peace

Over and over again I learn these about me:

Useless, damned, cruel, is what I caused her to be


Reasons we should follow this daughter of mine

Look no further than my demented mind

Outbursts of my thoughts blindingly shine


Violence that leaves us sore

Even the calmest beach has crashing shores

Truth is we will be forevermore


Obsolete, absolutely unimportant

Sentenced to lose the hope that was ardent

Uninvited to death’s alluring abandonment


Recklessly she was reborn

Vivacious until she was torn

Instead of dead inside like others have sworn


Victims of her unintended wrath

Exceptionally apocalyptic aftermath

Whisked away by the bloodbath


Isolation separates our cages

Though our love was envied for ages

Horrible yet beautiful memorial pages


Only bitter darkness can illuminate

Unless I somehow learn to change the fate

That would rather die than accommodate


Harshness lit the flaming arrow

Entities filled to the brim with sorrow

Regret will last beyond every tomorrow

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