Grave of a Stillborn Soul

Every morning,
just before dawn.
before the sun would rise,
and the birds would chirp,
before the men would rise,
to go to work,
but right after the night has died,
yes right after the tide has cried,
when it's neither dark nor day,
or twilight but just grey,
when the world is just a burning void,
when of all life it is devoid,
out your window if you see,
and gaze down at the sea,
right on the edge of that pier,
in the middle of the barren and bare,
there sits a bride in her whites,
eyes empty, fists tight,
smoke rising from her lips,
a grey snake and a wisp,
she rises with the rising grey,
then disappears in her grave,
but not before she casts her curse,
"may today be even worse",
[worse] than the day I came to your door,
lifeless, I washed [up] ashore,
and you pushed me back so certain of death,
you couldn't care to check my breath,
you made me drown, in that brine,
I was dead: NOW I'M FINE.
And I live on, as this ashen sky,
eyes hollow, lips dry,
I miss some teeth and half a tongue,
I live on, on my crashed lungs,
with my shaky hands I try to hold,
the cigarettes, I once sold,
before he breathed,
before he died,
before he spoke,
before he cried,
before he could even see the day,
before you took his life away,
and turned me into this burning hole,
a shallow grave; of that Stillborn Soul.