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Oct 2014
A teardrop splatters
on glass rubbed with red
splashed with blood
the remnants of
a life long gone.

Able to stare
able to glance
able to brush the surface
to watch breath fog the glass
but not welcome.

They turn their heads
but they do not see
sights they deem unworthy
you see them laugh
longing to laugh with them.

Claws rake that border
indenting that smooth sheet
a terrible screeching
an onomatopoia
of sorrow devoid of life.

You watch them smile
you watch them kiss
you watch them without you
how happy they seem.
What must be done. You painstakingly

turn away.
My first poem in the last few months. Enjoy!
dull-eyed mortal
Written by
dull-eyed mortal  At home. In bed. All day.
(At home. In bed. All day.)   
596
   Adrian Betz
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