Do you think about my dry eyes like i do?
when you left was I your worst nightmare come true,
a weak echo of the poisoned whispers told by the malignancy
- oh so potent-
that devoured each cell of you wonderous mind.
A mind of comfort,
tales of injury from the great white,
lands across the sea,
a fascinating story keeping us half pints busy.
I was infactuated,
I thought of you each day,
longing for a birthday, wedding or funeral to hear the adventures once more.
Yet, my eyes were dry when the phone rang,
when the room fell silent my eyes talked less,
when i drove the the mortery and saw you there
- this is not what i meant.
Do you think about the tears i could not find,
or the explaination no one was willing to give a child.
An accident perhaps,
maybe a crash,
were you sick?
But this was no mistake.
I think about my dry eyes,
and I wish they would return.
Beacuse rainy season is back,
and I think I prefered the drought
