Erupt.

Like the serrated edge
of razor-sharp regret,
you pulled my infertile soul
away with uninspired breath.

You emaciated me, daily
with your asthmatic invites;
an omen in bright lights,
as sterile as dustmites.

And since your stain stripped away
the stars from our strawberry sky—
I rip each stitch out from my skin,
then douse myself in kerosene.

As I eradicate all evidence of your
infected obsession, I explode.
Infinite in my eternity—
I am a universe of self-love.

Aftermath.

Denial disparaged my destiny
that dreary February morn,
and an enternity of ache replaced
your departure that left me torn.

I became a fiery inferno of ire—
anger invaded my existence.
I cursed the gods for their decision;
as innocents suffered for my sadness.

I begged, and I pleaded;
promised everything and the moon,
all so I could have another moment
basking in the majesty of you.

Then, the darkness came—
and stole the light right out of my soul.
I collapsed into a corpse of my old self,
whilst making my slow descent to Hell.

Acceptance became my greatest lesson, 

as it taught me to count my blessings.
Although it cannot change that you have gone away,
I know i'll see your face again,
one sweet hereafter day.

Braille.

Red—the sweet embrace of summer sun-kissed skin,
orange is campfire heat against your hands whilst making smores. 
Yellow? The feeling of your stomach jumping into your chest. 
Green: the spirit of nature, pure as pine needles, or eucalyptus healing.
Blue is berated for tears that sting your eyes then stream sadly down your cheeks. 
Indigo is the way winter nips our fingers
and magically transforms every breath we take to smoke. 
Violet is the feeling of victory, but also the same hue as humble. 
Then black is the beautiful serenity of the solitude we seek, 
it is the comfort of the dark, the colour of rest, and the mystery of night.
White is...frankincense in chapels, or aromatic sage.  
It is something sacred, that can even soothe the most unsettling of our thoughts.
Even without our eyesight, this world's vibrant colours can still be felt by our hearts.
With our remaining, heightened senses as our paintbrush,
life becomes the canvas of our souls.

Agápe

No eucalyptus leaf or salve could save her,
aloe was even unable to alleviate the ache.
Radiation scarred railway crossing ribs,
a maze of malignant monstrosities.

Stage three symptoms of a sinking soul,
hospice workers heard heartbroken woes. 

With each breakthrough's failure, her future faded further;

a flower wilted from one final forsaken Summer.

A broken bass, steadied then sedated,
perforated pulse that beat then fell flat.
Sighs were heaved and wrists were wrung from grief.

Suddenly a silent hum sprang from her center,

a symphony that left science in a stupor.

Medical marvel granted a second chance from her creator;
equipped with a clean bill of health erased by Heavenly saviour.