Motionless Hands

Waking up to the cold silk of crimson red sheets,
I have no passion to warm them.
Wilted roses lay next to shattered glass,
left where I dropped them.
Black ink splatters across my last letter,
rendering final intentions unreadable.
Music was never meant to be played,
from the glinting steel instrument laying bare beside me.
Scraps of meaningless words ripped from old memories,
resemble the thorns of my most sacred flower.
The clock remains ticking,
but time has ceased to bind me.
My lips are pale and frozen,
like snow upon stone.
The last words you spoke to me tore my soul,
much like the blade I slid across my wrists.
As peaceful darkness decends upon my eyes,
I clutch the fleeting images of our last moments together.
Bittersweet tears fall from closed eyes,
leaving me much like the streams of blood down my arms.
In one hand, I grasp a picture of you desperately,
even as my heart beat begins to fade.
My last breath is but a whisper from my lungs,
as your blood stained image falls,
from my motionless hand.
Now and forever,
I am motionless.