Skin and tears

I hear them before I feel them.
I know they are coming, marching.
Gathering up in puddles and joining in force.
The tears are rallying inside to be released.

I can't stand it. They come so easily and often.
They make me angry and they know it.
I am their bitch, locked in a prison cell with no escape.
No exercise yards for an hour of freedom an option.

Yet today it is different, I choose it so.
I tighten my heart, my guts and skin.
Circle the drain and send them down.
Down, deep into me until evaporation.

No tears today. No care of what you say.
Only skin and bones is my house now.
I am dry, water now only in my blood.
Parole granted to me for good behavior.

I hear nothing but the echo of trees outside.
I know the tears are sad, crying for themselves.
Gathering together in combined misery of loss.
The tears are not coming, the skin fills in silently.