Tears

All I have are tears now.

They wet my pillow.

They fill my coffee cup,

and spill into my cereal.

 

All I have is my aching heart.

It fills the space in my oven.

It heats up and crackles,

spilling its lonely rivulets of blood.

 

All I have are old memories

leaking from my ears

like fuzzy whistles.

Spilling from my mouth

in sonorous melodies.

 

What can I do with it all?

How do I handle my nothings?

I gather them up in my arms

and throw them in the trash.

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