Poetry

Living is hard
But loving is harder
And though it hurts I
continue
Like a martyr
Its suicidal but
vital
For my existence
Its so persistent no
matter
How hard I resist it
Soon he’ll miss it
I’ll no longer be
around
Only in spirit
And memory
But I don’t ever want
to remember what he did to me
I died slowly that
night
Lonely that night
Only to be awaken by
my funeral
But where is my rose
In Memory of Rosemary
Christian