Sitting on the bitter, unbreakable pavement,
Beneath me lays condensation left from pollution of the huge city.
She sits beside a telephone booth on the footpath,
Strawberry blond hair tied back with a brown diamond incrusted barrette,
Strong violet eyes staring in his distance,
Her lonely, desperate cries for attention.
Her eyes hold insecurity that shine like the starry constellations,
The moon pears over her, eating her whole.
She tugs at her sleeve afraid to show,
What she’s done.
She says it represents her past,
And she claims she didn’t move too fast.

Lying on the magenta fuzzy rug that illuminates her room,
I stare intensely as she takes a purple tack from her blue leather purse.
She scoots up her red, felt sleeve of her jacket up her forearm,
Runs the tack up and down her inner arm creating tiny indentions,
Swirling, Twisting little white ashy lines fly up and down her arm.
Then she picks her territory,
A juicy blue vein that runs up her arm,
She presses down with great force,
Traces up to her elbow,
Until you can no longer see blue running up her arm,
Yet you can only see red, flowing down her arm.

Thrown across her turquoise, fluffy loveseat,
I glare as she lays on her comfortable bed.
Graceful freckles dotted all across her soft face,
Her dark blond bangs cover her blue luscious eyes,
They come to her gorgeous eyelashes that curl perfectly,
She reminds me of a doll.
She’s writing on a sketch pad, and listening to his favorite music,
A tear rolls down her flawless, rosy pink cheek,
She pears up at the ceiling,
And just stares…
She sinks into her brown and turquoise comforter,
Then he calls, asking if she’s okay, Just making sure.