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Full circle
Your heart beats-- nothing
Because now all you are is unlisted mail
Flooding junk drawers in spare rooms
No one can give that homey touch to
Your fingers leave the door knobs
cold and greasy. And you wonder
why the uninsulated walls cave in
leaving you cradled. Your head
peeks through the crevice of your arm
And the thought of a bullet to the brain
sounds like a seventy degree day
during an arizona summer. And now
mirrors surround you until it hurts.
So you slither across the cheval glass
In case someone is there
And when nothing is heard
You try to break it
In case she's there
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