Wrap barbed wire around my body
Pull it tightly, watch the blood come out
It'd cause me some discomfort
But nothing stabs my soul
More than my bare emotions

There’s a widow in the windowsill
weeping like a willow, weeping like a willow
while her child tries to fall asleep
weeping in his pillow, weeping in his pillow.

© Matthew Harlovic

"It's alright, you can cry?" She looks listlessly at her reflected shadow. There's nothing on her mind, every cloud of thought has left the gray skies of it. She feels like a desert, barren and almost lifeless. If she could cry she'd cry the oceans in to existence and drown the earth in her sorrow.
But  she cannot. That's the real tragedy. Nothing disturbs her. All she can do is stand there not quite sure how to express the endless grief that leaves her like a carcass. A decomposing body without a soul, without the breath and sentiments of life.
"You can cry." She repeats to the rippling water in the lake. Her distorted, ever moving mirror where she does not quite recognize herself in. It's impassive in its tranquility.
If she were a song she'd be a broken melody in a dusty music box. Forgotten and replaced.
You can cry, she remind herself in the middle of a night as darkness hangs upon the sky. As it clings to her like Death weighs on her shoulders and violates her through the pores of her dry skin.

Of course, she never does.

She drifts in the open abyss of a tempestuous ocean waiting for oblivion.
She drifts,
                                   she drifts,
                                                                         she drifts...

No dreams.
No sinking feeling of demise.
Waiting for the lighthouse in the distance but all is bathed in the shadows.
There's not consolation of sandy shores somewhere on the distance.

Cry, she begs herself laying on her bed ready to succumb to sleep. Closes her eyes and opens them to shadows. Obscure and never ending. The darkness is ubiquitous, the only God that has not yet forsaken her.
She walks a few miles in the flatness of the dark land but there is no point to her direction for all is desertion. So, she stands in the lightness of the black.
Sometimes, her young self hides behind her back, wearing white and glancing ahead. She looks back at herself and wonders what the she can see. Her dress and hair fluttering gently by an invisible breeze, countenance straight and strong, never looking at what should be in front. After, she walks barefoot in to the darkness and disappear as by enchantment.

You can cry.
                                    you
                                                  can
                                    cry

But, in the darkness of her mind and her room
The tears don't fall
And her affliction is obscured
darkness never seemed so profound

You were at the park, sitting all alone
I slowly walk towards you, like coming back home

You look so devastated, so i red you between the lines
I saw something bright into your eyes that makes me gaze from time to time

An interesting story, written by a majestic multi-awarded author
I want to be with you in a journey, that's all I ever hoped for

To knit some memories with you, to treasure every moments
Replace the aura of this place with pure euphoria elements

I want to be your jester, to tell jokes whenever you want to laugh
To do something distinct, like seeking the 'Great Perhaps'

But then you keep on telling me about this ghost in your past that haunts you
I listened like a child craving for bed time stories, that's what you want to

All of my thoughts suddenly dispersed and tossed like waste,
This will all end soon like my oblivious phase.

People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.