Description

Gone

Teary windows weep the day from sleep to grudging grey.

Flicky, rheumaticky fingers query where to point the blame.

Crusted eyes and sticky lips have nothing more to say:

Mornings after the night before will never be the same.

The spearing cut, the scalpel slice

Decimate to half-life in the blinking of an eye.

The comfort words, as warm as ice

Failed to reassure or provide a reason why

Memory struggles vainly with once upon a season;

No sign of drip or trickle – it just flooded all away.

Mind, befuddled, bitter-streaked, grapples with the treason:

Mornings after the night before just one dull shade of grey.
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