To love you, there is no other choice

But to ultimately kill you.

To look at you and think

"Yes, you're dead."

To wear black all day,

In memory of your life.

To burn your picture,

And every single thought of you.

To get drunk on alcohol

As if tomorrows

Never came.

To cry in pillows

Muffle the sobs within

And suffer.

To wonder if maybe

If you had simply just changed

A small fragment

Within you

Everything would have changed.

But now, here you are.

Drunk beneath the covers,

Lamenting the future for which

Happily ever afters prove to be

Ever further apart.

And every time, she

comes along,

stop.

remember.

she's supposed to be dead.