Every word has become tiny stud,
Of pain, threading through my heart.
Every dream I awaken to,
Is a nightmare of your receding back.
I've slowly forgotten about your touch,
Warm with passion or cold as sleets;
The mirrors show me the very eyes,
You used to look into my soul with.
How did the spell shatter,
Leaving me with debris of happiness?
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar