Time Keeps Bleeding

The time, it keeps bleeding away—

like ink from a cracked fountain pen,

like wine from an upturned glass,

like memories through broken fingers.

I watch you kneel,

your pride pooling at your feet

in shadows of what we were.

Your hands reach up,

empty as cathedral bells at midnight.

*Stay*, you whisper,

but the word falls

like ash between us.

*Stay*, you plead,

but your voice carries

the hollow echo of locked rooms.

I remember when your eyes

held galaxies of promises,

when your smile carved rivers

through the bedrock of my doubt.

Now they're just features

on a face I used to know.

The real you—

the one who danced in summer rain,

who laughed at thunder,

who wrote poems on my skin—

that you slipped away so slowly

I didn't notice until

all that remained was this shell,

these bones,

these beautiful empty words.

And here we are:

you on your knees,

me at the door,

and between us

time keeps bleeding,

bleeding,

gone.