When He Took My Last Breath

He said my name like a fragile prayer,

And I was the sin caught in his stare.

The moon leaned close, the world turned slow,

He said, “I love you,” and wouldn’t let go.

Now I drift through halls of smoke and gin,

Where the trumpet cries for what has been.

He thinks I’m gone, but I still hum—

A ghost with lips that never numb.

⸻

You called it love, I called it dying slow,

A kiss too deep, a hand that won’t let go.

You took my last breath, thought I’d fade away,

But baby, I still sing where shadows play.

You can’t silence a heart that bleeds in key,

You took my breath, but not the song in me.

⸻

Your touch was cold, your voice was low,

You whispered things I’ll never know.

And when the stars began to cry,

I felt my body learn to lie.

But I’m the whisper in your bed,

The echo circling in your head.

Every note you sing in vain—

That’s me, love, haunting your refrain.

⸻

I watched you light another smoke,

I felt the tremor when you spoke.

You said you’d “loved too much to live”—

But darling, love don’t take, it gives.

Now every drink you pour for two,

The second glass belongs to who?

It’s me, my dear, that phantom tune—

Your sweetest sin, your ruined moon.

⸻

You called it love, I called it dying slow,

But even death can’t steal my show.

You took my last breath, thought I’d be gone—

But I still hum through your broken song.

You can kill the body, not the key—

You took my breath, not the soul in me.

(Outro: soft humming, faint heartbeat rhythm, trumpet weeping into silence.)