Sadness is a grave adorned with not a single flower.

Sadness is sweet lemonade that turns out to be sour.

Sadness is a rainy day inside a leaky bower.

Sadness is an old widow who wears a mask of gower.

Sadness is a royal king who's lost his royal power.

Sadness is a plane hijacked, into a famous tower.

Sadness is the gas of Jews inside a facade shower.

Sadness is humanity, we're turning truly dour.

I light a cigarette. It's comfort. Looking out over the disarray.  Your mother's living room is full.  Filled with chatter and im so sorrys. Out here its quiet. It's normal here. The patio chairs and the birds in the distance.  Even the far off chaos of the morning traffic lulls me to peace. Reality isn't there. It's too much right now. A Body knows when to shut down. 

The August sun is rising over Lexington and it sets a perfect scene to an unholy day. 

They've taken the body.  A scarred vision I may never wash clean. I will never be the same.

Blood. Black and crimson and congealed; streaking the blonde strands of your hair. As if your fingers  moved carefully through the mess.  Such a familiar gesture. 

I inhale and shake my head. From somewhere your father has emerged. He's holding Speyburn and a glass.  His eyes are distant.  Wide and Crazed.  His tie hanging loosely from the collar of his white cotton shirt. Stained with your life.  Hours before he'd held you.  Too much... too much to take in. 

He hands me the glass. Grateful for the burn. My mouth is dry. Pasty. It wets my tongue and brings me back to somewhere. Somewhere away from normal and the distant birds. 

He's talking. But I'm lost out here. In this haze of Marlboro Reds and Speyburn. He's hugging me now. Shaking. Angry tears. We got this I say. An automatic response to the fear; to the challenge. 

She loved you he says I'm nodding. But I'm numb. I turn away. Back to the birds chirping. A happy song somewhere beyond the pain; to the busy sounds of Man 'O War. To the smoke wafting silently away. 

Yes, it's normal out here.