The words die on my tongue.
Abandoned, starved before they reach the surface,
And perhaps I’m still too young,
But I know tears and I know their purpose.
I know this pain that eats at my heart,
And I know this strain to say the words I can’t say.
A piece of me is dying—as you do your part
To love me ‘til your last breath, and pass on away.
It is not that I’ll be alone.
This sorrow is not from you leaving me behind.
Instead, it’s the shudder and the moan
Of a soul who has lost what once was so dearly mine

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