Knuckles

I left my beloved city today,
Painfully painted the drabbest gray
By the overly-affectionate sky
In the vastest sense of overcompensation
Slow, lethargic clouds, unsure but wise
Hugging buildings unaffected by their presence
Stoic structures that peered ahead, simply,
And remained motionless.

I left your locked door today,
A door that was never locked before
The knob turned deceptively in shaking hands
And a fool was hiding elsewhere
As the unexpected he had disrespected
Knocked her knuckles raw and red
Her insomniac's sockets were the saddest blue
And not at all emotionless.

Left hands cannot rest in pockets of contaminants
Infectious wordy delusion and hurried print
Torn from a journal held sacred
A message withdrawn near an end,
Withdrawal driven by rugged wisdom
Knowing it would only prolong it then.

The buildings crumbled
But the clouds remained.