Her touch wore off; as well as her words and love
The once seen light in a dream of you and me
Now turned into a narration by an old man
Of a book about his regrets; titled with her name– transcribed
Sitting by his window; menacing one’s self in sorrow
The red cherry of his cigarette grew dimmer
The lantern of her shine grew in hatred
Illuminating her shadows as a past recollection
Exhaling the last bits of her poison; he stubbed out the blemishes of his cigarette
The room foreshadowed a chamber; a cell; a prison
While her new lantern conflagrated in a new flame
It depicting a foreign shadow against hers
Of a shadow that was not his
As the night passed; the moon grew brighter
Yet, his taste buds grew bitter
Wind stretched into his chamber
A doorless room; with a weariful window
Saturating in his thoughts; an escape was not saught
In a couple of hours, the sun would have shined
But the sun missed his fleeting soul
Leaving the body of a John Doe for the sun to find.