GYPSY AND HER MAN

This one wasn't written by me. Instead, it was authored by my best friend around a year ago. I think he's since then forgotten about it, and given the current circumstances he's facing, I thought it might provide some clarity. It did for me.

"At the coffee shop down on Maryland,

there's a gypsy dancing with a severed head.

And she smiles wide at all of those who attend.

Like she doesn't mind that her man is dead.

As his blood drains out and descends the wall

it collects and drips in the bathroom stall.

But she smiles still as she slips and falls.

A sound that echoes in the empty halls.

And I wonder now if the artists intent

of the works conception and my sentiments

walk hand in hand on the gray cement

as a destined couple or as failing friends.

So our glances fall as she stands on

since my time is nigh and my paper is done.

But she's locked the door to the blaring sun.

And she grins at me, like she's having fun."

Not meaning to rub salt in old (or new) wounds. If you want me to provide an interpretation, I'd be more than happy to provide the explanation.