Ice crystal morning chill,
so many black crows are in the trees,
my coffee is hot,
my stomach still hollow,
my bed is gone,
I can’t lay back down,
and my husband will never love me enough.

Ice crystal morning breaks,
pink and blue promises line
the low mountain slopes,
we sit at the table with our chins cupped
in our hands, survival mode,
oversoon morning, I can barely cope,
as punishment,
I will never love me enough.

Ice crystal morning pass,
give way to
short blueish winter day,
my Italian tongue longing for vent
and shopping might be nice,
winter layers fashion, so fine,
but I’ve got no cash,
I can lay down,
and my mother will never love me enough.

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