“Life; My flooding drizzle”

She cut through truth
like warm falling rain
into stale snow.

The sun was up
but the clouds covered
me so deep in yawns.

I could not see past
my cotton
sheets of grief.

So I stay in bed
and I turn my head.

And I turn my head.
And I turn my head.

I look at the clock
when the red blur
sounds off.

So I punch it hard
and I say out
loud, “no
more.”

I could not sleep
with the rain sliding down;

Snapping icicles
from all gutters
and abandoned nests.

My winter landscape;
Yes,
she sings no more.

She is not my bride.
She is not my wrong.

She is not my diamond
ring since she wore
those red shoes
under that gown.

And I turn my head.
And I turn my head.

Cotton clouds cover
me in a flooding
drizzle of misery.