Withered Bars

Love poem.

This place,

I hate,

But here I stay,

Confined by you,

Where my heart once lay.

The bars which have grown weak,

Carve my flesh pleading to keep.

Though I will not leave,

I do not wish for a need to breathe.

And as I lay alone and empty,

The thought of our once passionate love kills me.

Which serves the role of a deathly barrier,

That outlines my cage

My loathsome carrier.

For I am death,

In the purest form,

But there is no need to mourn,

For this death is my own,

Consumed by the darkness I've known.