Happy Dark Birthday To My Almost Dead Wife

Happy Dark Birthday To My Almost Dead Wife

Tonight I baked a cake of black roses,

five candles trembling like thin ghosts.

You sleep upstairs with a fading breath,

yet the calendar insists you still have a birthday.

I lit the candles in a quiet kitchen,

their gold flames bending toward the dark.

Happy birthday, my love, I whispered softly,

though your ears no longer follow my voice.

The roses looked too alive for this house,

their crimson petals bright as old wounds.

I placed them beside your favourite chair,

as if you might return for tea.

The clock ticked louder with every minute,

a cruel drummer counting what remains.

Outside the night watched the windows closely,

as though it knew our secret grief.

I carried a slice to your bedside table,

the candles shaking in their wax tears.

Happy birthday, my love, I said again,

while your chest lifted like a fragile tide.

Love does not end when breath grows thin,

it clings to bone and memory.

If morning steals you from this world,

the candles will still remember your name.

So sleep, my almost gone companion,

the cake waits patiently in the dark.

And I will guard this fading hour,

until the final candle sighs.

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