I fell asleep to the sound of your screaming,
the melancholic melodies of our sinister love.
I woke shrouded in silence;
the dark room shifted and squirmed around me.
My hands groped the sheets for you
but were left wanting.

The sun comes up
and I’m still waiting.
The room now a temple of hate,
an auditorium of ludicrous lamentations

Too late for recess from the pain
too tangled in a cancerous web of thoughts
too late

-our sweet wine now vinegar.