Impossible

I thought I didn’t love you.

And it wasn’t until you died that I realized.

I realized how much I love you, how badly I need you.

When I heard the news, it was as if my heart was torn out of its roots.

You were there hands bloodied, with my dying heart in your palm.

You just stood there, emotionless, empty, dead.

You weren’t you, and I couldn’t feel your electric soul,

but I could feel my heart slowly giving out.

I remember your funeral,

it plays in my head every night before bed.

I kissed you one last time, but you didn’t taste like your usual cigarettes.

The smell of rain in the air, the low chatter of everyone talking, yet still silent.

I didn’t cry that day; I was empty without you, without my heart.

There was a plot for you, and right next to it laid my heart.

Instead of beating with life, it just sat there. 

Gray, lifeless, torpid, dead.

I wanted to cry; I wanted to bring you back, I wanted you.

Hell, I needed you. I need you here with me alive.

For you to rise out of the muddy ground with my beating heart in tow,

but you can’t, and neither can my dead heart; it’s simply impossible.