I'm still on the verge of tears.
But only on the verge.
I feel my sockets fill to the brim,
but not one tear spills out.
Can't I feel a rolling tear?
Can't I feel it down my cheek,
and taste it in the corner of my mouth?
I want a stream to run down the bridge of my nose
and watch them dangle at the tip.
Like that time I scraped my knee,
and you gave me hell for it.
I just wonder why I can't cry.

What is the hardest part
                    Of being alone?
It's the quietness,
A stillness making
What ought have been a home-
a house.
It's filled with beds,
But those lover's nests
Are             Empty.
And the thought is
As occupying as a dream.
A dream you cannot feel
Because the loneliness is keeping you awake

With no one to hold down your fears
         And keep you safe.