My dearest love, Amy
Why didn't you tell me you'd leave?
You've sentenced my heart
And denied it reprieve
Now I sit here alone sifting sands of dead times,
The ocean a witness to the hurt of your crime.
It's depths would hold me... for how long I don't know,
But one shan't die here,
No, I really must go.
Far, far away from the haunt of this beach,
I'll wash away the memories with a bottle of bleach.
Image by Mark Grossi