Mourning

Mourning,

Blessed yet cursed with the horrendous job
of dwelling on the memories of purity 
woven into a lattice of grief. 

Placed upon a web of pearls and wire, doused
in reflective light that glares onto the walls
filling each surface with patterns. 

Each breath taken is heavy and pained, yet 
brings the lungs euphoria and the sense 
of purity.

Your heart burns, 
with each thump, throb and pulse bringing 
a light crackle to the ear.

Doused in salt and anguish, 
drenched in tears and fear. 

A hunger to devour ones own heart 
develops, it grows like a cancer. 

Left with nothing but

Mourning.