I am

I am the paper left out in the rain
I still look the same,
But never to be used again.
I am the decorated egg at Easter
Drained of my life essence through a tiny hole
A decorative shell that is weaker
I am the dream that comes with the dawn
Vague incoherent fragments of something
That turn into nothing with the first yawn.
The fondant flower on the cake
Moulded and crafted and placed on top
The piece of the cake no one will take.
I am the teacup with a chip in its ear
Left in the darkness of the cupboard
But bound to be discarded, I fear.
I am the flower pressed inside the book
Robbed of fragrance and floral pride
How pitiful and lost I must look.
I am the pinata left hanging after the party
Bashed and battered but not destroyed
Transformed, transferred and tardy
The joyless abandoned carnival at winter
Empty tents and stationary carousels  
Whispering echoes of laughter as they dissenter.
I am the calligrapher without ink
Invisible words from a despairing soul
No meaning conveyed, just there on the brink
You took your last breath
But now I cannot breathe
The air it is too thick with pain.
You lost your life
I lost my sister.
My friend
My memory keeper
My bond of blood.
Because you died
I struggle to live
You were my life
The colour of my heart
The shape of my soul

Now you are gone and I remain
The rumpled picture without its frame
Not alive Nor dead.
Lonely but never alone.
Too fragile to remember
Desperate to never forget.
And thus I am left
Heartbroken bereft.

I am the paper
Left out in the rain.
Destined to never ever be the same.