Pour a song into my open wounds.
The wounds that do not remember your smile,
the way you laugh,
the exact color of you eyes.

And now I realize that there is no resemblance.

There are no similarities between you
and the face of Jesus.

In this game,
where we agreed to take no prisoners,
I realize that you have captured all my pawns.

The morning is the worst part;
when your absence reminds me
that this is all I ever wanted.
This independence.
This space.

And still you are gone.