The Tear Collector

One window and one door
and a table with a vase.
A collection of teaspoons,
some ornate, some plain,
await to catch my tears,
collecting every last one,
in the vase on the table.
Never leaving this room,
dedicated all my time,
much sadness to catch,
nervous to face outside.
I don’t know what to do,
my vase is overflowing.

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Impossible Tears

The inside of the busy skull,
coated in impossible tears.

The world lost in the ceiling,
the trap wasn’t kept shut.

An apocalypse of words,
hated by those closest.

Passion misconstrued,
intentions are misunderstood.