I have no tears left to shed for you,
No sympathetic words slide off my tongue,
The salty streams of sympathy you’re due
Evaporate upon the setting sun
Upon which I recline in heedless glee
And never long for water once, so tell
Me how a heart as drunk as mine may see
The horror in a face that’s been to hell.
It is ironic when my heart inclines
Toward you in a stand-up comic’s pokes,
And that if all my empathy defines,
Do understand: it’s hard to weep at jokes.
I have no tears left to shed for you;
For now, a mastercard will have to do.