Without her numbered days

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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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