Tuesday, July 15, 2008

she was looking up at the stars,
making them out to be something
they weren’t, they were speaking
to her, telling of her shambled
existence and sub-par talent,
she made a qualified
decision, it was definitely time
to do another line, times were
getting boring again, the high
wasted on limp conversation,
three key bumps later out of a
plastic baggie painted powder
white with abuse, five more
out of sheer terror to return
to where she knew she was
headed, she let back
her hair and opened her shirt a
little, just enough to feel the
breeze, risen on a park bench in
an unknown city, forgotten
and lifeless, obtuse without
a fertile spring to see, only
winter left before hand,
cold, dying in the breeze

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