The Ghost of my Heart

The cruel calls of your voice no longer make my heart yearn for more.

The rotting corpse of our love abandoned on this floor.

The echoes remain in the empty halls of this home we built.

The ghostly warmth of your last embrace, filling my heart with so much guilt.

The chill of your touch as you said your goodbyes.

The mourning look, in your crystal, clear emerald eyes.

We salted the corpse and burned the bones of this romance.

But the ghost that binds is blood, in this circumstance.

Your heart was never mine to claim and now it is I that bears this shame.

It was foolish for a woman to love a ghost and expect them to feel the same.

In the shadows our love could withstand.

But just like phantoms, in the light our love became a barren wasteland.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 4th of Midsummer, in the year 496 MA.