Stains on the window are Crimson, the sky is Silver and Blue. Dried grass moves in the wind as half dead Golden Rods fade away. Dry leaves crackle as the wind picks them up and tosses them around. The boards creak as I move barefoot across the floor. The dust settles as I sit down at the table alone. A Raven calls from a tree barren and withered. A dark messenger sent to bear my soul away, though I am not yet ready to depart. My eyes are dark and red, the rings around them tell a tale of little sleep while the red lines show the tears that have fallen like a cold winter rain. I drink dark and half warm bitter coffee, as I languish a little bit longer and brood on the pain that your leaving has caused me.