All there is to cry


Watching the winter

A wonderland of sorts,

The earth barren beneath a quilt of white,

Thick white,

The few things to be seen above

Dark, mostly dark,

Even on the sunny days


Oh so dark,


I am always breaking,


Outside dark,

Inside dark

Feeling the need

The want

The urge

To once more leak

A crimson stream

Of nothing more than 

My own pain,

Yet no diamonds fall,

Not like normal,

Am I just that numb inside?

Or have I cried all that there is to cry.

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