The taste of my first tears,
as I wail into an empty room,
An empty, hollow, lifeless room,
with nobody to hear me cry.
And the weight of your head
upon my breast,
a dead weight.
Gabriel’s thorns are stinging me
You have stuck them in the side,
in my infection.
In my eyes,
pools of loneliness.
But you are not worth my words.
You are not worth my wailing.
Neither my energy to curse and swear.
Instead, I will simply blot you out,
like spilled ink.