Dying a Little

thI died a little inside
The moment you said goodbye
It was a small death with flowers
Left on the unmarked grave
But a death nonetheless
Black and portentous as night
Frequently overlooked at dawn
Because that’s when we move on
When our tears turn to dust
And blow away on the breeze
Like so many fairy tales
And wishes on shooting stars
But that’s not how it goes
This death by inches
This creeping, black thing
That steals color from us all
Crushing it like so much ash
In a kind of stark reality
Intense in its tenacity
Giving nothing as it takes
These tears overflowing
But no one is around to see
To hear the distinct shrieks
As I keep dying in sections
Until there’s nothing left
Except mourners all in white
Heading to an empty grave.


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