Too Late

The cold grains of sand dance around your grave,

And I water the dead flowers, but there is nothing to save.

My blood boils in black and white, leaving me empty.

I reach for the trees, but the ground is more tempting.

Chilling whispers surround me when I close my eyes,

But there is no one to hear how hard I have tried.

The sharp grains of sand lie silent on the hill,

And I paint the dirt with tears as I lose all will.

-Jackie