Sick of feeling
Myself wither
Spewed it from
My shriveled liver
Winter takes a heavy toll
And lachrymose
Is my old soul
For I was once
So young with her
But can’t go back
To how we were
In love
It seems
Can disappear
Or was it even
Ever there?
Apparent in
Some kind of sense
To me
Or else
Why these laments?
She mentioned
I might be depressed
Expressing now
The evidence
Presentiments
Of no known cure
But burials
Of premature
Relinquished will
To carry on
Endure no longer
Dead and gone