Dark-blue sea prints on the dead body,
After signs of how she died,
Of dying by drowning,
Not in a sea or in despair.

She killed herself,
Of fighting for what she believed to be true.
Holding tight to her dreams.

Not sure where she is now,
A lover of my poems indeed,
My dainty darling.

Days ago,
We met merrily,
Tickling the day with her insanity and my poems.

I feel tremendous pain,
To see you dead,
And to hear echoes of your laughter.

Your dead body has prints of sea,
Into which my tears melt,
Salt of my life,
My taste for living.

– Emily Parker


Posted on

December 1, 2020

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