I found you there, in the cemetary
Sitting amongst the crumbling headstones,
Dead flowers rotting at your feet.

I found you there, with a cloud over your head.
Dark and drab,
Dreadfully quiet,
Like the last dying leaves of an Autumn tree,
Dark and dingy, brown and orange.

I found you there, hands cracked and peeling.
Clawing at the ground upon which you sat,
Broken fingernails and bloody knuckles,
Your eyes dead, waiting for sleep, for death
Eyes, that have seen the world for what it was, cold, shallow, lonely.

I found you there, your back against the well.
Poisoned grass that turns to ashes at your fingertips,
looking down at me, remembering my face.

I found you there, standing at my grave.

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