Breath of the Past
She breaths with me;      a breath from the past,
she’s dead she’s gone,        at last,
the tub is full   the water is red,
in the water lies her head.

The baby the stress,
she bought a new dress,
like the water it was red,
same as her head,
I love you darling; I said in her ear,
comfort for her; the end is near.

I hated her; in life she was cruel she asked too much;  she wanted me to      stay,
I told her I loved her not    in the same way,
from this our problems were wrought,
and happily the child shan't be begot.

She the child; would only remind,
forget; I hope to leave this all behind,
though  wonder I what she’d be like at three?
Would she match her mother,        or turn out like me?

.               .              .

I watch her,
She moves like an angel,
As I speak my words slow and slur,
for us; our love there is no   label.

Her fingers are cold; frost,
she is like a sheen of the not yet lost,
her beauty can’t be told,
because she’ll never grow old.

She never falls asleep and I don’t know why,
sometimes I wake up; she holds small shoes   as she does cry,
But in the morning her tears are gone,
she loves and smiles at each new    dawn.

At night I remember    see things in my head,
Things that I said
I killed her,
I killed her,
I think this on and over,
she is my late wife and   lover.

She holds with me; a breath from the past,
a breath that will be       forever her last,
I hated her in    life;       she’s better off     dead.
She’s not the first to have lost her head.