I smell the death on you like a faded winter,
Trying to smile when misery is screaming at you,
Shrouding yourself in falsities to strangle and suffocate the truth,
But I can smell your attempts and feel how it became uncouth,
I understand your tears and why you used what you used,
Locked yourself in your old room,
Bound for a megre, flowerless tomb,
The doctors can only close your open wounds,
Like books with short chapters which end too soon.
We didn’t get each other, but it was through our misunderstandings that we came to be understood,
Your tears still flow through my veins, warm as blood,
Because you just took as much as you could,
So your thoughts became heavier and dark as mud,
And we talked over bottles and grolsch and burning bud,
About our purpose being to have an example made of us,
But you slipped through my fingers and I couldn’t catch you quick enough.
Time stands between me and you now like heat, almost tangible,
An impenetrable barrier that cascades into eternity,
We are silenced scrap of history,
A single frame in a flick book, splashed with red, that is dismissed for better memories,
A sheet of glass-like water seperating us, moving backwards,
And a figure named forever stands next to me,
With you on the other side,
Slowly turning into a mirror.