light, coffee, dust, everything

the light drifts
     into the empty breadshop

dust covers everything

     she sits
              solemnly, stoically,

      staring out through
               the dusty window.

her coffee is cold
   yet she still
     huddles over it
          for warmth



draped in the aged
       blanket that was…

   …once enough…

          to keep her warm


its holes bring back memories
            she would sooner forget


her eyebrow…
       her eyelashes…
    her breath
against the cold
     morning
           windowpane

she shivers silently,
     to no one but herself…


on the other side of the window,
the world moves,
        life happens,
              everything progresses.


but she is alone…
  
      the only person
   on the other side of the glass
             where nothing happens
          and nobody seems to care

the rotting cabinets that
         once housed her childhood
      mimic the slow rot of her heart,
             her spirit, her mind.

                loneliness is unforgiving
            tears are unforgetful
                   and nothing fixes anything

the world closes in,
        but she’s not around
             to see it.


        sunlight
                    …drifts…
              in
     as the wind
            brushes the dry and
                 lifeless leaves down the
      sidewalk and across
            the barren doormat

nobody walks on it anymore
     nobody notices it is even there.

   nobody asks questions
           about the girl
      who sits in the breadshop

…alone…

          …and silent…
       …and still…


            nobody sees her cry
                     nobody sees her smile

     her coffee is cold.
                 nobody asks why

she exists in a peaceful, silent world

she exists in a peaceful,
     silent world…

     …alone.

   the water around her dances slowly
     to the melancholy song
        of her thoughts, gradually
                   pitching her back and forth.

off-color lighting
       casts long, dreary shadows
   across the empty room,
            and across the textured
                       ceiling.

                   one hand…

             rests solemnly
        next to her naval
                 as her breasts gently
           rise and fall, matching
                         the rhythm of her
                 somber breathing.

out-of-place paintings
                      tell stories that seem so
     unreal…

             these things don’t happen in
         her abandoned world…

she lets out a short,
         selfish laugh
    at the woman
                 hanging on the wall…

                             not in her world.

her knees sympathetically
           rest together as…

  
                   she turns away from the room…


          from the yellow lighting
       and the dreary

                    …shadows…

            from the out-of-place paintings.

she leaves her one hand…


     softly…


resting against her belly.

             and places the other
        over her eyes, as an anguished
            frown erupts across her face.



                      she gasps for breath.


what is all this for?
what does any of it mean?

painted strokes tell
         a story of imbalanced joy
   and impossible contentment
             while her life continues to
         seem out of reach and
                 without forgiveness


she lets the waters…

             pour over her face,
         washing it all away…

      and again the waters sway
            to that melancholy song…

                  silently.

            …

                            she sighs…

                …

          another day.