Tissue

No amount of tissue can clean up the mess. No pile of comfort can bubble wrap the rotten tissue inside you. Cry for you, torn down and ripped apart by the deceased. Rotted from fact I was the ghost of your life and you mine. A mother's revenue, revenge a rotten decision. Pass the tissues hear the wail a bit longer. You still scar my tissue you still ghost my world a dead, rotten, forced misdirected crumpled, used pile of regrets.