ix of swords: reversed ~

   in a circle of sorrow…  
 we stand alone,  
   
 unable to hold each other’s hands:  
   
   …we stand like seven frozen stones:  
   
            the shattered one  
         the careless one  
the lost one  
the apathetic one  
                 the dead one  
the sick one  
     the fractured one.  
    
  jupiter and neptune’s ominous  
 conjunction, and, in ashen valleys, burnt nightingales  
cry, ~  
   
   “what could have been?”  
   
-- evermore our reminders of what should have been…  
   
  …now we can never begin (again.)  
   
 even my infinite, frantic, murmured prayers,  
couldn't save you from fading away ~  
  hope, always strays,  
       instantly betrays...  
  melts into the blackness of despair's fiery lair.  
    
 a mouthful of splinter’d citrine, and spider webs of regrets  
   mutes my pleas of a thousand  
   apologies…  
   
 and,  oh, how those cruel fates never cease to  
find amusement...in…witnessing…  
   
     all  
of  
our  
  sorrows,  
all  
our          
     mistakes.