Milk Pale

I find myself alone,
Without somewhere to be,
And I get stuck,
With these eyes,
That won’t stop crying.

They fill and fill,
So I empty them,
And they fill again,
Like a fertile cow,
Producing pail,
After pail,
Of warm milk.

Except these tears,
Aren’t comforting,
The way warm milk is.
They come because,
I’ve found myself unaided,
And I am uneasy,
Together with my psyche.

I need to be on my own,
The way the cow needs,
To release her milk,
But the tears,
Have no place here.

The cries fill my pail.
I skim off the top:
Condensed aching.
So I pasteurize my loneliness,
And swallow my tears, once more.

I want to tell him,
That I need real solitude.
But how can I explain,
That I have come unglued?

This pail keeps filling,
While I knowingly ask,
For a new set of pails,
To fill.