She stood posed in photographs, standing straight like a statuette.
The colors faded from age like the memories of the flowers of her dress.
Then i felt like the infinte weight in the air that recedes but always hangs above me.
To swoop me down with a tought of her
To keep my heart always breaking.
How i pray for death.
But every chance I get, I tie the rope around the prayers instead.
I missed the line about you
and forget.
One thousen angel could not fill your absence and the portraits begun were left blank and unfinished. I tried to complete them but what good are memories when they're all that's left.
Renoir would have turned in his grave when I failed to define your face.
I found a dried rose in my carrier and I swear I remembered you. Just a glimpse.
Just a passig photograph in the bedlam of my mind.
You see its thing like your smile that i can't lose, no matter how hard i try
Did death great you warm or did it grab you by the wrist and drag you down with it?

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS