Melted wax, from last nights candles,
Is resting on my bedside table.
The morning, like a hangover,
Has over keened my senses.
The withered rose, in the vase,
Is still sitting in my window sill,
Why do I continue to give it water?
Strands of scent still fill the room
From the incense long burned out.
The tears are still wet in my pillow,
All of this because I woke up
And you were gone.




I wrote this after a really close friend of mine had comitted suicde, this poem always reminds me of her, and so I almost always cry when I read it. Its probably one of the very few non sadistic ones I have.