Where do they come from, these tears.
This sorrow that wraps itself around me
like a leaden shroud,
a toxic lover.
I have done nothing to call you.
You come, unbidden, from the darkness of the well.
You crack my heart
and shred my soul.
You sink your long, sharp claws into my soft places
at my stubborn refusal to stay in your desolation.
Is there no bottom?
No place where you cannot find me?
Why have you not diminished? Shriveled? Withered?
I do not feed you.
On the contrary, I have purged you
time and time again.
Yet, you survive
to ambush me in the most pedestrian of moments.