My Bloodied Stone

I'll be this way forever
– on my own,
sitting on my bloodied stone.
It's still warm,
it leaks of pain
and cries in the rain.
Calls out for help,
I smash it to shush it
and plaster it to fix it.
Sometimes I want it to end,
but then I think
- then I spend,
time thinking and wishing,
and thinking.
And then it's weeping,
tears of blood,
tears that should.
It's leaking from my chest,
and falling in red snow from the sky.
It floats around me,
all the time asking, why?
It's broken, I say
and pain is for today.
Let it be, I whisper.
No more free falling,
death is calling.
Silence often falls and nothing is said,
while I'm watching the ground,
and my stone,
bleed red.

Love is dead.