I look to the sky
like a mirror,
and it cracks into icicles
like a mirror,
falling all around me.

Did it lie, or disguise
love as a word worthy of description?
Was it I who was foolish,
foolish, and fooled?

It isn't, it really isn't
the truth, I really was
fooled -- deputed, a substitute,
a filler of boots.

This vitreous drizzle never stops,
until I gather all my mewling veins,
lost in dissolved condolences,
until it floods the entire earth,
and even then it will never stop
for the sky that never lived.