Still In The Mourning

Stood still all the same
With tears that fall like rain
Undertaken in the arms of sorrow she looked toward the grave. It was a cool grey, nothing could rot it through for centuries, yet she was sure she could tear it open bear handed, to reach her love, at any given point, if needed.

Stop
Was all that time could do for her
She just wanted to stop it. Weeks ago, months ago. The further back the better. "You'll be fine", "Your so young"; not words of comfort but seemingly taunts, reminding her of how quickly she had come to her own ruin.

Stupid wretched thing
All the more despicable with every growing second
Love was the last thing she ever wanted to be destroyed by. But he was dead and so what can this emotion do but destroy her? It builds and then it tears, for even the closest lovers are eventually separated by time.

Now what could be done?


It seemed like it all happened so fast. Loneliness, love, laughter, murder, agony... in this order. She had no idea what to do or how to heal. She had never had to heal before, or at least, not like this. She could feel the ache of her
chest, the racing of her pulse, she just wanted to scream. For all the intimacy, for all the tragedy, for everything she felt, to scream and release the pain like the excorsisim of a demon, and be done with it.

"He
Was
Murdered
He
Is
Gone
Never
Coming
Home..."

She repeated this in her mind a thousand and one times. It bruised her every time, the truth made her physically flinch. Death's gift. It takes you to another world. Makes everything unreal. Makes time not stop, but simply run together and cease to mean anything at all.

'How can he be here?
Dose he really have the nerve
Wait... why wouldn't he be in jail?
He should be... he's a murderer...
He could kill others...'

Her loves murderer stood beside her, calmly as if he were at the funeral of his own friend. He had tears of his own in his eyes. He looked like he was sorry to see his victim go. She wanted to scream every obscenity she knew at him, beat him, taunt him, ridicule him, just so he could feel her pain for just one moment. But she didn't because he looked so familliar, and she really couldn't place from where or when.

She glanced toward the grave, to see her love's ghost floating next to it. Her jaw dropped and she began to feel faint. Tears flooded her eyes again. The murderer helped her keep her balance. "But...", was all she ever got to say. She glanced again at the murderer, then at her love's ghost. She understood everything completely now. They were the same person. Her love was her love's murderer. He had committed suicide. She whispered "Why?"... but the dead of coarse, cannot answer.

No longer alive
The memory haunts
Not really dead
Reality taunts
And love plays it's tricks
And leaves us only with what we remember
Or choose not to forget
In everything we are this
Alive
Remembering
Trying not to forget
That the stars were so much brighter
Yesterday...