made in the wakeless morning being that I've not gone to sleep and my eyes have become red

images blacken like the edges of my eyelids
the tears funnel from tear ducts
making my eyelashes clump up, together,
alone as I do anything ,that's the truth,
silence and a slide show of pictures, I can recall every one,
it's brilliant, how the light flickers to faded,
but in a slow eventual loss of light
until
the sky each morning ignites,
the spark that fills the sky and it carries on expelling all the black,
until it passes each window,
the daily routines, the constant reminders,
the interactions and the actions that show you no one wants you around,
I find this out in leaving,
you fall for the comforting fill of a voice to your silence, the sharing of thoughts, the play of messages, you fall into it.
I fall in love with your bravado, your head strong light that you emanate cures the haze of this grayest of days.
How did this become a love song, when it's written while I'm alone?
Have I finally flipped my cap, imagining making you come back.
A play of pictures, a man hung from an ivory rope,
when he attempted to swing the strand broke.
A stream of consciousness that I keep to myself,
folded up in a fading memory.
your eyes are just as dark as mine,
we reflect one another
infinite eyes, until the opening
collapses.