She never wanted fake flowers.
Maybe it’s the way the dust settles on the tulip petals
or how the sickly stems never seem to catch
the light that trickles in at 4 p.m.
Slouching in the cracked leather of a mistreated couch,
she wonders why no one ever told her that
the loneliest people are the ones
who always speak the truth.
Spindle fingers wrap around
the cord of a silver rotary phone as
Maybe it’s the way the dust settles on the tulip petals
or how the sickly stems never seem to catch
the light that trickles in at 4 p.m.
Slouching in the cracked leather of a mistreated couch,
she wonders why no one ever told her that
the loneliest people are the ones
who always speak the truth.
Spindle fingers wrap around
the cord of a silver rotary phone as
she gnaws on her cuticles.
Hollow eyes blink mechanically from a gaunt face.
Busy signal.
Hollow eyes blink mechanically from a gaunt face.
Busy signal.
No comments:
Post a Comment