The Night So Still

In a drunken state I lay here in bed with my notebook and a piece of pen, no one in my house not even family nor a rat in the den, creating another craft from pen and ink to seek the justice that my artistic sense needs, for my art is dependent on sorrow for there like a vulture it feeds, My memories have become a rotten corpse being eaten slowly by my art, cursed for my past and sorrow can never be apart, with the winds howling outside the window, I could hear the silence of a lonely widow, Waiting for the man that's never going to come back , probably having his corpse being dragged inside a sack, hope has found one of it's victims again, sucking life out of once gleeful women, Like the widow I lost a majestic bird once, remembering her radiant face with just a glance, at a withering sunflower above my shelf, remembering her lying down at the concrete turning cold alone by herself, Time is cruel when it is needed, and my heart's sturdiness has already been tested, the trials of losing a loved one are harsh, to the point that I'm still stuck in this pitiful sorrowful marsh, Nothing can ease this pain of mine but father Time himself, petals begin to fall on top of my shelf, one by one they fell, with no soul inside to go to either heaven or hell, My sweet withering sunflower why have you abandoned me? I never thought leaving you for work had a fee! Slowly, slowly, you are fading away, And still Time will never stop and tomorrow will still be a new day.