Tuesday, November 29, 2011

i'm working again

wet eyes of security lost
she runs the comb through eyelashes clumped with mascara
lights camera splashes
copper tint on her eyes, copper paint on her nails
those bitten with anxiety
those scratches on his back
how funny what ordinary things become weapons

the books and to do lists and dishes pile up
and she steps over laundry to step into the cool water
but no matter how many times
she scrubs
it just won't wash away

not like the photos
not like the notes
and not like the hopes and promises

this is not mine
this is just, not mine

this is not my walk
through my beautiful park



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