Tryst

Her sadness descends into madness,

all trysts come to an eventual end,

it wasn't the lackluster saving of face,

but the "maybe I'd like to be friends"

and cruelty it comes in three flavors:

salty, rich, tinged bittersweet,

and sadness descends into madness,

when everything comes to an end.



There are thoss in this world that believe the old lies,

of things ending on high notes, of love seeming like song,

but there's a reason the old they grow deaf as they age,

and real mourning occurs when the tears are all gone.



Artists dip brushes in colours, and sigh,

and moan as the best years of their lives have gone by,

but squirrels, they scurry and scamper and die,

without knowing much more than the lonely black night.



Little girls read about princes and wine,

and they overlook men who are only alright,

but when princes turn sour, all that's left is the vine,

and the sweet salty promise of fresh tears and old wine.



sadness descends into madness,

all trysts come to an eventual end,

it wasn't the lackluster saving of face,

but the "maybe I'd like to be friends."