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Molly

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Tonight, the sky is purple,

No, it is more a dusty lilac.

The clouds a terraced pink,

Quite like a staircase.



Only a sliver of the moon left,

I imagine it is telling you the end is near.

There is no possibility of rain,

Yet it descends upon my cheeks.



Inside, the walls are sterile,

They give no indication of life.

Beeps blend to a single sound

As you tighten your grasp on the banister.



The first step was the steepest,

You glance over your shoulder at us.

He is waiting for you, arms open,

How can we compete with that?



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