They will call you
crazy.
They will turn your tears
into digestibles:
She’s just crazy.
I couldn’t deal with her.
They will call you
crazy.
And I’m sorry, but
I have no hopeful words.
You must go through.
You will answer to the gravity
tenderizing tears and snot and mascara and
the last remnants of effort
down the lines of your aging face
looking crazy
knowing that your
broken broken broken heart
has caved in on itself.
