I watched my best friend die

except there wasn't much blood--

just a glazing of the eyes,

a slowing of the heartbeat,

and a growing paleness

that also seemed to

infect his soul

because his laughter started fading,

his smiles dwindling,

and all the will to live

evaporating

along with whatever love

he held for me--

crumbling between our fingertips,

he continued to slowly perish

right in front of me,

and my hands didn't know what to do--

the rest of me was frozen,

helpless

because his wound was not visible,

not physical,

not treatable--

the pain instead pouring,

gushing out

of his damaged soul,

and even though is death wasn't gory

or immediate,

it didn't lessen how seeing him

lose himself to that darkness,

witnessing his spirit burning out,

was a slow torture that eventually

unraveled me to the point where

I forgot what I looked like whole again.