Empty Porcelain

The pictures are no
longer resembling
any features I once
recognized. I tried,
but putting together
pieces of a porcelain
love is hopeless.

Even molding a new
one is unattainable,
when the heart is
too weak to nurture
its needs.

I chocked on the
remains of its white
dust, covering every
inch of what I used
to know as my hands.

In the silent haze of
the aftermath of it all
I wondered if you were
suffocating just like me.

So I held your last
cigarette, this time I
will only light it so I can
remember how to breath.

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© Copyright 2015 by: gIrL
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