Lachrymose

What were these deadened eyes sundered for? Eyes that have seen only black, blue, and sickening green on my ceaseless worldly tour. Languorous from reddened trickling disdain. Absorbing naught but ebbing pain. This daily ritual, a dabbing display. Inescapable, my mortal form’s been inundated with melancholic figments. I’m wasting away from the inside out. Frigid fickle winds eroding down to particulate, escaping in a gale force cyclonic spout. Spewing forth from my ceaselessly faltering mouth. Deposited in the delta slowly formed. Flying south of the slaughtering fields where lie the fallen bodies of dread and self-doubt. Told the way to happiness was deadening my heart. Quest fulfilled, yet the spring still flows, more lay buried within the fibrous graveyard now unleashed. An endless stream, no flinching or blaming. There is only taking an account. Torrential disconsolate fits overwhelm me. No matter my company or location I fear no eyes or lips of reprisal, my doleful brokenhearted wails echo wearily over the county. The shallows and deep waterways carry my penetrating intonations. They carry, mournfully striking spectators to their core. Escorting lachryma to hazy eye, involuntarily, and forevermore.

K.B. Silver