The Acute Loneliness of Not Having

She left.

On a bright brown morning,

the flowers simply refused to bloom

anymore, preferring, to silently

wither away. Beer bottles

blossomed, wafting on their own fetid stench

every morning. Growing on me like

a neurosis, a sense of loss

of purpose. She took away with her

all the reasons.

She left.

On a bright brown morning.

She did not go away, she

was simply no longer there. Just a

her shaped hole in my being, and

a yearning this morning. Thoughts

of tired grass turning brown over deserted

graves, hot sun drumming up mirages

and tired old ladies singing in falsetto screams.

She left.

Night will arrive soon.

There will be a bed, which will

Seem vast without her, a blanket which

will smother me, a night that will

leach its languid, acidic tendrils in

my soul-tonight, tomorrow, the

night-after. It will be slow, it is

patient. It knows it has a lot of time. It knows

she is not coming back.