I sat there, on the balcony in the middle of winter,
worried about where you were, if you were ok.
I was worried about where I was, if I was ok.
I had no answers. You were gone
and I was in Hell
All of this has become a brutal mutilation of love.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sleep, anymore.
It was all tightened in my chest like a vice,
like a hand around the throat.
A brutal mutilation of love.
The poorest *******, you and I.
Entangled in a feeling we couldn't feel anymore.

I sat there, on the balcony,
worried about the sky falling down,
about the finality and futility of everything.
You were gone and I was in Hell.
I looked up, it was snowing.
I laughed at the irony and agony of it all.