There goes the bubbles of your cola.
Splash one, splash two, three hundred droplets down
Pathetic, do you hear the depressing background viola?
Like a fool, you watch the cup tumble to the ground.
Get up. Move on.
It's half past 9am, it's time go,
It's half past 9 years since he died,
It's half past the moment you became a widow.
You're pitiful, just lying there.
No, not this morning.
You're ducts are worn from shedding tears.
Just rip off that shiny ring that you keep as a warning
He's six feet under, he's gone, and you know it's time to go.
You choose black.
Perhaps to match the bags under your eyes?
End your sorrows before you finally crack,
And just break into color before it's too late.
The loops scrape as you drag open your curtains, faded pattern argyle
You let the light break through, it's a start
And you crack the corners of your mouth, it's a smile
And you let your skin soak up the beams because, well, it's a new day.