My Juliet; 5 : 3

Handful after handful down his throat,

Gagging on the sterile, chalky taste;

It shouldn't end on such an ugly note,

But life without her's better off erased.

 

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers in the gloom,

"I don't know how to do this on my own,

A ghost I have become, haunting this room, 

I can't handle all this hurt alone."

 

The tears roll down the sadder Poet gets,

As drowsiness descends, he sits and hums;

His heart and soul forever Juliet's,

Even as the silent darkness comes. 

 

Collapsing on the bed, he shuts his eyes

And waits to see his love beyond the skies.

 

----

 © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

(To be continued.)