Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

She wonders how many
Other hearts he’s broken

Like hers. She just wants to
Lie and sleep and forget the

Creep. But even in sleep, he’s
There and her old wanting

Him lights up again with all
The despair. She sits and stares

At walls drinking too much,
Forgets what her mother once

Said of men: all such and such.
She’s considered ending it all,

Overdosing, leaping in front of
A train, jumping from some tall

Building and splat loud to the
Sidewalk. People will know then

How she loved and lost; they’ll
Softly talk. Yet her coward self

Puts such thoughts aside, cannot
Bear the thought of the mess left,

Someone else to share her distress.
She lights up a cigarette and inhales

And tries to forget. Other hearts are
Not her heart; their pain and hurt not

Hers to feel; his betrayal, lack of real
Concern, hurts and burns her still. She

Wants to wipe away his words, unstick
His kisses, unfeel his touches, unsex

His sexuality poured and stored now
Turned sour. The wall has no ears to

Hear, no lips to say, sorry for your lost
Love my dear. Just wallpaper fading, the

Odd pattern and the echo of words that
Seem to say over and over, you slattern.

i swear this poem describes last night ---i guess we are all intertwined now

thank you for reading, Creative soul.

mary pickford was a friend of my grandma s- i just gave the necklace she gave my granny to my sons girlfriend-

Bravo!!!

Bravo!!!

Thank you Creative soul. That is an interesting fact.

Thank you rite.