When i die i will need to atone for my actions on earth

I fear that my judge will not be one of an angel or god

But rather my own demons

Standing face to face with her pale green eyes

The same off kilter stare will bore into me before

Ruling over my death the way she did my life



Her hair flowed like black ink

A polished bewitchment of dark color

Letting it run through my fingers

Almost like sand falling through a hourglass

But the thing about ink is that it has a tendency to stain


She was captivating

Soft skinned with no edges

Her outline delicate, tender

The scent of fresh parchment and cinnamon

A smell that now burns my senses

A silhouette that stains me


Nina wasn't afraid like me

She had emotions burned across her sleeve

A woman with an venerable soul

encaged to a small framed body

A body that would lay in my arms when taking its final breath

I being the mirror of my past

That last moment being the stain of a breath upon me


I cry out for freedom in the dead of the night

Because dead are active during the quiet hours

She haunts me

Flickering at me like a static riddled tv

Her screams of agony over what i have done  

Break through like corrupt radio

Silence a paradise when her sound is all that is left

A memory that stains my mind

The weight of Nina’s halo weighs me down

Crushing my chest, ribcage cracking under the pressure

Her laughter echoing in my head

Shifting to a gasping of breath

She is nothing but a merauge now

Yet i can feel her familiar touch

Recollection flooding me

The squeal of wheels against asphalt


My love Nina, it was all my fault

Her blood will forever stain me.


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741