We're supposed to care
in the pits of our hearts
and review in solemn
exactitude the magnitude
of little things we did
as kids

Try to recognize this
exsanguinating loss
and watch as what you were
is cast to disappear in past's
prolific mists

so vast they dwarf,
they drown us: caring as we are
in hearts' pits.

The forecast called for sunny skies
but it’s been raining for days;
humid afternoons smother
and in foggy morning haze,
then again tomorrow
overcast crushes in waves.

Skies, grey, accumulate,
burden of their thoughts precipitates;
an army of soft blades penetrating, drains,
desiccating stamina and strength,
exsanguinating blood in puddles from veins;
weeks are dragging teeth, serrate
as I’m crawling through the month of May
and all I have to say is
every dawn that I awake
is just another chance to be afraid
when I am already struggling to tow
this great nameless weight, in pain;
I’ll be lucky if I make it through the day okay
or if something of myself still remains.