Tears, like Lace, Run Down my Face

Tears don't come like they use to.

They use to flow in rivers,
gushing down like lace,
flowing through my frown,
& showing truth on my face.

They'd come in swirling showers,
playing like a violin,
all throughout my veins,
they ruin me through sin.

I sit here looking off,
something maybe viable,
perhaps I will find it,
but to disclosure it will be a while.

I've often wondered why,
this dear blessed soul of mine,
is so holding to cry,
and as to why I cannot whine.

Maybe its poetical practice,
maybe its dejour gone wrong.
I think its simply God's Malpractice,
and everything is quite gone.

All gone from my face,
simply because,
like running lace,
its all a dead clause.

A notion worth not of Pause.
But simply running Jaws.

Yes my Hedonistic Laws.
My sin, my pause, my jail, my sail to pale hell.