I gazed at the sun creeping behind an ashen cloud

While heeding to a sound: pound, pound, POUND!

It filled me with fear and angst and torment,

Knowing how much I yearned for the pounding to be silent.

I could not sleep for grief awoke me.

I could not dream for nightmares stalked me.

Nothing could portray the feelings he gave me.

Nothing could depict the depression he bestowed me.

For as blind as irrefutable, indisputable love can be,

Hate seemed to offer an eye-opening horror

That not even the strong could battle and win,

But only be weakened by the loved and lost kin.

As for I, I never tried.

Tried to win as I died?

Only a fool would die to win and lose and die.

Because why? Because he tried.

The grief dug deeper in my soul,

Tearing, shredding, slashing, ripping wider the hole.

My heart is not bearing the wound for much longer.

I, weak as we speak, will nevermore be stronger.

My violet covers, nearly always drenched with sweat,

Muffled my screams and shrieks as I dreamt the fading footprints

Of my love, my heart, my fading soul who

Murmured his last words,

"I don't love you."