The Wrong Words

It was her hand reaching out to me
Cold fingers grasping at a final trace of hope
Like breath lingering upon a still morning
That broke apart the wall, brick by brick
Ushered in the madness of the keeping
The swift eye of my shadow, always watching
My every breath a question, a curse
Raving at the gate that hangs on broken hinges
With eyes that see more than this world
Shivers traced by the wind, and coaxed deeper within
Where something that looks like her waits for me
Whispering the song she sang, but the words are wrong

Photo by Meo on Pexels

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