Widow

Negative space
Covered in lave
Defines the weeping widow
Next to the willow
Treats
the
gargantuan
Grief
Like a cool pillow
Outside of the
Dimly lit room
A grim taste of gloom
The vociferous din
Billows in the shape of a mushroom
Relative haste
Lover's delaced
in the confines
of the sleeping widow
Expect the grief to grow
Mutter a hard 'thanks'
and grin a lie with your teeth
She shrilled to the star-scattered atmosphere
'At this point of hardly mattered if you were here!'
She ranted further of how
'God' had hurt her..........
Blessed are the festive
who are fake for any god's sake.