A year has passed by and I see your phantom beckon. I smile wryly and find myself underneath the Mistletoe. In the dark shadow, I see your face in the shallow grave. Black as your heart. My eyes falter to meet yours. A memory of the hurt and the hate. Beauty pales with time, so does love. Your gaping jaws speak the unspoken. Maggots crawl over you, writhing in slime. Your swollen fingers curled above the dirt, reaching out. Waiting for me to grasp them. To pull you out or to drag me in. The putrefying stench churns my guts. I step back, nauseated. I hear a shrill cry as I walk away. You were my life. Now you are more dead than death.