I am your grief gliding down your skin. Made only for what troubles you within. Very many or very few,holding to your face like morning dew. I define your sorrow, and your shadowed tomorrow. Although you may wipe me away, my memory will stay. My wet sensation has loosened the pain, like a rose's roots drinking the rain. Tempted to fall from your chin. I hang on till sorrow shall no longer win. I dry, i fall, in time there is no trace at all. I wait, i wait, until once more, sorrow shall be my fate.