Blind

I peer at the clock. It's one in the morning,
Saltstains run off my chin.
The crumpled edge of the sheet is dampened,
And the tissue is tattered and worn thin.
My eyes, even in the dark, are swollen
As time dissolves away the hours I weep.
Blocking the dull heartache,
And the pain that trickles down my cheek.
The pillowcase is bitter-stained
From memories and reflection.
Teardrops fall and absorb
The anguish of rejection.
Unmindful that love is truly blind,
I foolishly turned a blind eye.
But pour enough salt in an open wound…
And even the blind will cry.

* de - may 2000