A Centurion Whispers Among Dead Trees

I see you so

Burned and out

On your own, just

Sitting there,

Fading into

Lukewarm ash,

Cooling down like

The fire

Of my raging


Suddenly died,

Died unheard;

Falling from skies

Of perfect,

Fake, complacent

Seas turned rough.

So I wonder,

When you fell,

Did you think of

Me as much

As I still do

About you?

Even though we

Both know it

Hurts just way too

Fucking much.

And we’ll always

Both know it.

My obsession

Was great, but

I guess it was

Not enough.

Now there’s no point

In wanting

To be a part

Of something—

There’s just no point

In speaking

To someone as

Dead as you.