Disintegration of an old flame.
A new life calls, a new lover awaits.
And yet—I stay.
Waiting for the flame to flicker again.

Disintegration of us.
I was reminded again of your touch.
It has caused me to spiral.
Sad songs are revisited,
my work ethic tempered with.
Again, crying at my desk.
Sick, and appearing depressed.
Jumping from present to past tense.
My writing is a mess.

Disintegration. We were the best.

Or so I thought.
Multiple mirrors with different reflections
of a long dead relationship.
I do not know what to believe anymore.
Why have a tombstone when we did not die that long ago?
How long ago?
Months...

But the candle.
Just one dark room, I promise.
With enough sadness, enough sorrow and mourning.

It will flicker, I promise.
I promise, I promise.
I kept my promise.
You gave up the moment I was honest.
I stayed despite your dishonesty.
I return to a dead flame that treats me harshly.
It burns and it burns.

Disintegration.

© DolorTheDaimone