I had never seen the ashes of someone I loved until I looked into his eyes, he had graveyards in his cheeks and whenever he blinked dirt would spill across his skin. He swore on every mother's tear drop that he would never cry, and so he went through the world with his eyes closed. His desires were carved onto each gravestone, he buried them six feet under, but spelt out on his tounge, they still had the same effect. He left his ashes in my tear ducts, and now I'm certain the tears were never his.
"At the end, he looked like a funeral "
YOU ARE READING
Ephemera
Poetrye·phem·er·a əˈfem(ə)rə/ noun things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time. items of collectible memorabilia, typically written or printed ones, that were originally expected to have only short-term usefulness or popularity.