three twenty-eight am.when the world is silent and emptyin the space between the crickets and the thrushes
i cry.
four seventeen am.
when tears become salty films settling on irises
and all i see are blurred visions from the bottom of a well
like forsaken stars reflected on turbulent water
like swirling eddies of the stream we used to go to
now distorted memories of us that plague me
as i cry.
five twelve am.
when sorrow transmutes into physical pain
as fire licks the back of my throat and stings my eyes
i choke down sobs that only echo in my chest
reverberate through my weak heart and cleave it in two
but yet i am left alive, and yet
still i cry.
five forty-three am.
when tears leak from crevices in squeezed-shut eyelids
paint trails from cheeks to ears, pooling there
the muffled sounds of the world can’t reach me
underwater it’s only my heartbeat breathing crying sobbing
it’s only the voices that can’t fill the void made when you vanished
and left me to cry.