It was a cold May when I lost him. Then again, every month was cold to me, as I lost my warmth when he breathed his last breath. His last words were nothing above a whisper, telling me to stay strong. Stay strong I did, but there is only so much pain a broken heart can manage. I looked into his dying eyes with fury and pain. I saw the memories of our childhood flash through his exhausted mind, his frail hand shakily pulling me into a last hug. I stumbled and fell to my knees as I felt his heart stop beating, under my frozen hands. It's crazy, how I loved so much and lost so little. Him being a grain of sand on this endless beach, lugubriously chipping at the already dusted and rotted heart I call my own I reach for the tips of his cold- no, listless eyelashes. I grasp at the foul attempts of the possibility that he is alive... But I know- The cold tells all.
The cold is unfathomable, I tell you. The dark night's not only dark but,
Cold
And what is to come after his passing is unknown, to me and to my life.
My last words to him were words of the lost.
Say something.
Say something.
YOU ARE READING
Poems by Someone With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (PTSD.)
PoesiePoems are by me. Inside this interweb book is an abundance of fear, pain, anger, depression, and emptiness. It is not much, it may not be anything, but it is who I am. You may get to know me, if you really try. Even so, you may read if you'd like. S...
