Every morning
It is hopeless
I am autopsied
By words of kindness
And misplaced reproach
You and he
And she
And they
Salvation lies in melancholy
A shudder
Before we wake

Of love, of tragedy
This agony
Of poignancy
Revisiting me
Each and every day
You must not quarrel with me
I am the emptiness behind your eyes
And in your heart

Your mournful stare
Penetrates my eyelids
I clear my throat
And clear my conscience
Just as easily
Everything you say
Provokes a hacking cough
And tuberculosis
In my head.