nigthingale’s song

it’s two in the morning and I’m sitting here awake
writing this poem beneath the falling snowflakes
it’s an ode to the love that the both of us knew
when our hearts were young and the feelings were new

and as the night passes over this filthy old poet
a nightingale joins me with a sad little tune
it’s a song about happiness and a love so cold
that ended with a dark pool of blood
and a body
sliced and carved