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.