I’ve worn you, my beloved cloak of grief, for so long, a companion.
Dark and musky I carried you with me, until you felt like skin, my skin.
My mind grew attached to you, the thought of letting go a betrayal.
Precious fabric, woven with cords drawn from deep within me.
Painted on your sleeves, a colourful remembrance of my tortured past.
I thought I swore an oath to you, by faithful sacrifices of bountiful tears.
I sensed the slightest change, a bloom, a message of the seasons.
The smallest ray of sunshine on that gray and gloomy rainy day.
Becoming aware of your heaviness, weighing me down, uncomfortably.
I touched your ivory buttons, feeling it between my cold fingers.
I felt the delicate images, lovingly carved on them, irrelevant now.
I heard your cries, as I unbuttoned, first one then another, slowly.
There was a painful tearing of flesh as I removed you from my back.
The act of letting go drawing blood from my ever faithful soul.
Claws of fear clutching frantically at my heart, what am I without you?
Your powerful addictive pulse calling out, desperately reaching.
I knew not to look back at you, but rather turn my face toward the sun.
Shining softly on the faint smile creeping onto my worn out face.
