With your parting,
the sun was pushed aside
by grey clouds and silver moon,
dropped down below the horizon
and didn't rise again for some time.
Summer ended and autumn began
too soon, with leaves coating the
rooftops and sidewalks and
everyone talked about the doom
riding wind, swift,through the town.
        Down and down, everything fell,
but the light did not touch a thing.
Darkness was the language,
darkness was the doctrine.
In the plazas and asylums,
I saw this shift in reason,
wisdom falling from the brain
like flesh from the bone,
driven hard down into dirt and
left alone. The madness swelling
outside like cold air in a lung.
Then came the snow with an angry
wind, hung in the halls and bedrooms, hospitals and cathedrals,
me asking, "why did you go?"
The radio crackled with static fear,
and everyone who hadn't gone mad
went mad and disappeared into
crumbling homes with ***** windows, their fates forever sealed,
like pointless letters into envelopes.
       I wrote you from the madhouse,
hand shaking with indecision,
words risen out of dread,
words you read but never reached you, telling you that,
with your parting, the whole world
has gone to hell.