Onion Tears
Tearstained faces,
Bleeding hearts.
She left a gap behind; a pit in which anguish thrives
Feeding on tragedy.
My face is wet like the others,
But the tears are false, artificial,
Void of the emotion that salts the drops on others' faces.
She was good, kind, fair, bright
But my heart is as cold as the stone on her grave.
No emotion.
No emotion.
My heart yearns to ache as others do
To feel the pain of loss cutting deep into my soul.
I would relish that pain; it would tell me that I am alive, real,
But I cannot cry.
I cannot cry.
At last the tears come,
Not for her lost life but for my lost soul.
I cry not because of what I feel,
But because
I cannot feel.
The wrong reasons, the wrong tears.
My tears are lying. I am lying to myself.
Why is it that I feel no sorrow?
I should
I should
So why is it that the only way for me to cry
Is onions?