Washing away the dirt stuck under your fingernails from when you dug my grave.
Blood, it stains your shirt, the same shirt I gave to you on your birthday.
Guilt, slowly eating away at your insides, just like the termites that bite my skin as lay underground, six feet within.
Some sunlight enters your small room, which soon turns into darkness as comes noon, the same darkness that fills the little space my lifeless body now lies in.
The same light that tuned into darkness when you stabbed me in my already open wounds, causing that heartbeat to stop all of a sudden, leaving that smile that stayed for months to wash away into a frown all at once.
Sitting in bed sipping your coffee, you don’t even think to say sorry.-H