I slipped down into embracing
the dim state of morning solitude,
avoiding reality like the plague,
the sound of my heart—blued, subdued.

Sullenness was painted on my face
like the blue sparkling butterfly,
for three tickets at the carnival that day.
I cried before the paint could dry.

I poured cream into my coffee—
not milk as I did the day before,
but this day was a new day—
a day to run to the liquor store.

The first day with myself by my side
in place of you.
The first day I drank wine,
before the coffee could brew,

I couldn't drink my coffee,
I couldn't eat my toast,
I couldn't go back to bed
because that’s what I missed the most.

I didn’t wake up next to you,
the first eyes I met should've been yours.
If I might’ve seen the glisten in your eyes,
and those tears not have poured,

I might not have picked up the knife,
might not have been drawn to the blade,
might not have dimmed the lights,
might not have locked all of the doors.

First thing that dim morning,
if I’d not thought of you,
if you’d left my mind before I could wake,
I might've been on Earth today.