In despair,
Of yet again,
Lost essence.
The warmth,
Of the moon,
To only comfort,
My sorrows as I,
Pity the deceased.
I am desperate for,
You. Hear me howl,
For you till my throat,
Dries and my lungs,
Weaken. I,
Have yet to grasp,
The reality that,
Death has always,
Stood between us.
And there was,
Not an ounce,
Of fight in,
You left.
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