She Sleeps
in a bed
of second hand
dreams.
surrounded by
raggedy Anne
romances
of no
depth or
consequence.
she is
a poem with
no ending
clouds with
no sky.
she sits
waiting for
heaven or hell
to finally
be done
with her.
maybe
someday
love will
give it
back.
the
key.
to the
place she
locks
all of her
secrets,
and hides
all of
her heart.
but not
now,
her broken
heart stands
alone,
the reaper.
watching,
while she
sits still
offering
only gentle
whispers.
of lonely
one way
conversations,
with empty
bottles
of wine
tonight.