Medicine won't revive
A dead feeling.

My hands are draped around
The corpse of what used to burn
Inside of me.

A fire that lit up
The cold nights of December.
The flames,
The fumes,
The warm jazz tunes,
You could see the stars
During those days
But weren't they dead too?

Water won't rehydrate
A worn feeling.
It used to fit me so well
Like my fuzzy red cardigan.
Oversized but
I felt like I was
Wrapped in
comfort.

Love can't fuel
A fleeting memory.
My tears soak up the
Wrinkles of
Crinkled letters
Unused cards
Tossed sentences and
Ideas that never made it to reality.

This is the graveyard of my failed desires.

When I let go,
What will be left?
When a dream dies,
Where does it go?

When a dream dies,
It becomes your anchor.
It will keep you grounded
With the weight of
What could have been.
And one day
when the mourning is over,
you will pull it back up from the sea
And head towards what will be.