POUNDING HEAD

I had a dream that you were dead, and it's the worst I've ever felt.
And then I woke with pounding head and a composure sure to melt
In your presence, yes, you're here, but if I see your face I fear—
I'll fall to pieces, glass to clear, a transparency too-soon jeered.
I wish we could embrace, and you tell me everything's alright,
But to do so would erase the pain I fought to say "I'm fine"
Because everything's not fine! Not alright! Not even close!
The memory is staining wine against white, killing ghost
Of what I thought our future was, sculpted mud, all we wrote!
You lit torch, bleeding lies, pictures turned to blackened furls.
It's the darkest shade of dead, the saddest hand you've ever dealt.
And I still wake with pounding head, remember all the love I felt.