Poem, Day 10

{This would have been in earlier (like, three and a half hours earlier) if my computer wasn't being a complete douche. As it is, I'm surprised it's working now.}

She left fingerprints
on his soul
as she scurried out the front door
and into the shadow.
His time was left
in wonders
of why and how
she had stolen his heart.
She left imprints
on his wrists
as she held on tight
to his throbbing veins,
willing him back to life.
His heart was left
in mystery
and painful memories
of the last person
who held his hand
under the weeping starlight,
on that night under the moon,
a thousand wishes away.
That night,
when all nightingales sang mournful songs
of girls who scurried into shadows
and left boys with
broken hearts.