Sorrow

I've sobbed until
my eyes were stained
crimson and my nose dry
and flaky from harsh tissues.

There were no more tears
left to cry.
The ducts were empty
and my eyes stinging and swollen.

There was nothing left
to roll down my flushed cheeks
and into the corners of my mouth
or onto the tip of my nose

to meet the pouring mucous
which was only to be wiped
on a sleeve
or pillow case.

Afterwards I sobbed dryly,
hugging myself tightly,
grieving my losses.
I lay in a darkened room

with my head resting
on a damp pillow,
my hands covering my face
lest passing vehicles

capture a glance of
my aching eyes and quivering lips.
I pray for the strength
and stamina to remain

stable for one day.
"I am tough,"
I try to convince myself
before rolling over
and sobbing once again.

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