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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:42:07 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 75719
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ~ She ~
[time] => 2004-12-14 10:25:42
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => She sits sturdy on the sofa, alone with her past. She troubles herself with the perfect things that never last. And it's a shame. She's so set in her ways. She exhales the smoke and re-lights the flame. The bottle of white zin on the floor is empty so she reaches for more. Blood stains are not the same as they once were. The scars are much deeper and they all belong to her. No one else's pain...nothing to share. The smoke and the zin are all that's there. She doesn't even cry anymore. She doesn't even try anymore. Dimly lit room with scented candles and old pictures from a box... her eyes transfix on a shadow that dances on the walls. Locked inside her mind are lethargic kinds of lies drunk on the reality of never being fine. She thinks solely of her pillowcase, soaked with nights filtered but still thick enough to choke - And she stares, blankly - too screwed up to care. At least the smoke and the bottle of zin are still there. She doesn't even cry anymore. She doesn't even try anymore. Just like in all her dreams laid bare - she's vulnerable and her smile is rare. No longer sturdy on the sofa, just limp... She lays there thinking of him. She stays there and exhales the smoke. She consoles her pillowcase, soaked by the night, filtered but still thick enough to choke. She doesn't even cry anymore. She doesn't even try anymore. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 61 [informant] => Red_October [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => selfstruggles )
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