Stephanie Arwen Lynch

I won´t look at old pictures
Sprinkle salt in that open wound
I won´t squeeze that empty heart
Hoping for some latent glow.
I´ll just wrap this up in tissue
Layered with tape and sand.
One to lock it in.
One to grind it in.
This knowledge that the jar of hope
Transparent now empty of light.
The dead fireflies bang the walls
Where they once drifted easy.
Beacons love´s last laugh.
Now they lie.
Legs up.
Shells dry.
Dead bugs.
Just like those old pictures.