You—abysmal undead—sulk within my tired mind,
Beg to be held by her empathy, so warm and kind.
You wrap my garden in dreams, turn my vision hollow,
Try to find closure, without any guide to follow.
Her lovely sunshine is lost under the shade of your weeds.
My flowers wither as her absence corrupts the last seeds.
Her epitaph you read to relive days in the orchard,
Chilling my eyes that now feel nothing, broken and tortured.
So remove my rainbow, pluck the pansy that sprouts from my nail.
Continue to decay, bury my ladybugs who were frail.
“I don’t want you putting all of your happiness in me.” Don’t worry, I won’t.