Number 204,
That's all that you are anymore.
Reduced to a tiny pile of ashes,
The left-overs,
Haven given bits of you away.
A stale stained candle,
Its wick tired,
Consumed by thick, cold, suffocating wax.
A few pieces of silver,
Not worth anything to anyone else.
A box of forgotten photographs,
Reminding me that life and death are indeed black and white.
A file of achievements,
Of struggles overcome,
Certificates of a life once lived,
A life come undone.
These are all that I have left of you.
A chat icon that again will never bold,
Never call out my name or scold,
A conversational history that now means the world to me.
This is all I have left of you.
Number 204, Mommy, I will miss you forever and more.
