Beyond the Storm

My life

she saved

not once, but

thrice.

Letters in jail,

heroin,

and

from my myself.

But my reflection now-

endless black eyes,

and milk white skin.

A memory of a stranger

the stranger of a memory.

I have fallen away,

into a deep abyss,

hollow,

and out of place,

and for a reason,

that only,

a dead man knows.

Through the last door

I walked

and now remains the sweet aftertaste

of

just

nothing.