November

Sliver slip of water
in a thick muddy track
they've ripped out the trees
and they're not coming back.
I stare from the window
at ice sheets of rain.
and think of you smiling
which sharpens the pain.
A cold bleak wind
carves sculptures of mud
freezing black shards
in the ice of my blood.
"How's it going?" he asks
far too loud to ignore.
Without you I breathe
and not much more.
Ghost in the window
Tears slice down the glass
The future's been hijacked
by a moment now past.
I stare at my own eyes
Sight I cannot endure.
Without you I breathe
but not much more.
Hideous laughter
down an echoing hall
like a kick to the gut
stops me thinking at all
In my mind the door slams
and I fall on a knife.
It will be dark November
for the rest of my life.