Catalina cannot cry

Though she hangs her head to try

The tears are in her eyes

And one might just surmise

That she has something to hide.

But Catalina will not cry.

The blackness of her eyes matches the

Blackness of the sky.

Like the movies and all great literature

Do say

A storm is rolling in.

The foreshadowing effects

Barely capture

The depth of Catalina’s rapture.

And with a fire burning in her

Scorching hopes and dreams and life (murder?)

Catalina does not cry.

What is wrong Catalina?

Dear, sweet

Catalina.

For the bedroom offers

No comfort

And the light supposed

To shed hope

Only unmasks Catalina’s grief.

But who can help such a disaster

A life no longer with a master

Catalina crumbles to the floor

And beats her helpless head against the door.

She’s too far gone for anyone to save.

Her weak heart at any point will cave.

And crumpled, crushed, confused

Catalina

Will die alone.

Her scattered ashes

Will blow to the wind

And no one will cry.