morning dew does not exist
nor does river-like tears crawling down my face—
they do not exist
on gray days that drizzles liquid gloom
over lively gardens
            (we hide)

The sky cries—
a million jabs to the ground
that lands with a thousand shards scattering
like fragile, brittle vase fallen to the cold concrete
            (morning dew does not exist.)

gray gloom shades whisper thoughts of melancholia
on dried eyes; we speak in visions—(dead language on the rise)

There is no difference between generous serving
of the rain to the abundance of my tears. (morning dew
does not exist.)

No sunlight peeks through gray blankets of matter—
the gloom of the clouds covered me.

The loudest crash I have ever heard was from a single drop
of water falling to the ground—(the crash of bones breaking and screaming mixed.)

(I never knew
if it was
just a piece of raindrop
or if it was already my tear
from my burning eyes—
I never learned
the difference—)

Morning dew does not exist.