Her eyes spoke of mid-November nights
Gloomed by cold, and hiding secrets of pain.
Though, days shrank
Though, winters arrived
Lamp glow—freezing tiles
Skies adorned in mist,
And less bright.
Till her cigarettes turn to ashes,
She whirls in a dimly lit room
Soft guitar and jazz,
Like the smooth page of a book
And her peace was enchantingly ‘epizootic’
Like muffled raindrops and afternoon slumber.
Yet she suffers,
Yet I suffer too,
Like going to work but something pulls you back:
…
This feeling of nothingness eats you away,
Crumb by crumb until there’s not left any,
And you’re vamoosed, slowly
Like a tale of two drug addicts,
But they’re just humans,
Once they were loved too,
Once we were loved too.
Artwork by: Henri Matisse
