F.i.in.e Moods

- he died alone... by his own hand...

The day you slipped away,

seemed like all the flowers

wilted under a dark shadow

The sun didn't seem right

although it was shining

And the birds in the sky

only looked like sketches

a painter jotted down for

his memory to recall later.

Aside the numbness

of a deep pain inside,

it was the blandness that

coveted each moment

with such force of fury

and such persistance

that made me realize

this emptiness is from now

holding my hand until the

last breath in me is exhaled.

The day you slipped away,

more than anything, joining

you on the train you were in,

is all my heart desperately

yearned even though it knew

too well it'd be an uninvited

guest who shouldn't be there.

Missing your love is hurtful

but losing it is beyond any

coherent explanations.

The death of an angel,

my own irreplaceable one,

endures as the day a part

of my demolished self

fell further down the stairs

into the cellars where my

resolve, in the torture

chambers, was already

being punished for existing.

The day you slipped away...

Even comfort in songs disappeared.