We’re A Love That’s Dead

We are a love that’s dead.
Like a dried up leaf
Clinging onto its twig,
Fluttering with the wind.

 

We are a love that’s dead.
A pretty picture in faded colors,
Paint chipping slowly
Alone on the bare wall of the room.

 

We’re a love that’s dead.
A run in the seams,
Knots of thread rounded up in a ball
In nervous anticipation.

 

We’re a love that’s dead.
A boxful of treats a day too old,
Paired with a yellowing rose,
On a dusty shelf in a locked room with no keys.

 

We’re a love that’s dead.
Honey, are we a love that’s dead?
I’ll keep holding on,
Tell me I’m wrong.