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Breathe of the Past
Breath of the Past
She breaths with me; a breath from the past,
she’s dead she’s gone, at last,
the tub is full the water is red,
in the water lies her head.
The baby the stress,
she bought a new dress,
like the water it was red,
same as her head,
I love you darling; I said in her ear,
comfort for her; the end is near.
I hated her; in life she was cruel she asked too much; she wanted me to stay,
I told her I loved her not in the same way,
from this our problems were wrought,
and happily the child shan't be begot.
She the child; would only remind,
forget; I hope to leave this all behind,
though wonder I what she’d be like at three?
Would she match her mother, or turn out like me?
. . .
I watch her,
She moves like an angel,
As I speak my words slow and slur,
for us; our love there is no label.
Her fingers are cold; frost,
she is like a sheen of the not yet lost,
her beauty can’t be told,
because she’ll never grow old.
She never falls asleep and I don’t know why,
sometimes I wake up; she holds small shoes as she does cry,
But in the morning her tears are gone,
she loves and smiles at each new dawn.
At night I remember see things in my head,
Things that I said
I killed her,
I killed her,
I think this on and over,
she is my late wife and lover.
She holds with me; a breath from the past,
a breath that will be forever her last,
I hated her in life; she’s better off dead.
She’s not the first to have lost her head.
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