Every pity a pithy platitude

pecking at ears too tired to hear.

I'm so sorry for your loss they exude,

isn't it too soon to return my dear?

I think you're marvellous to cope so well

pounds at her protesting brain.  No outlet

to explain they enshroud an empty shell

in a net of lies and angry regret,

tethered down by wellwishers assumptions,

the widest wires not guiding but binding.

To lookers lives minimum disruption

keeping clear of a widow confiding -

that actually, no, life's not all that great

when all that's left is minus my soul mate.