I open up your letter
and I read your every word
I found them quite unsettling
for it was just yesterday
That they put you in your grave

Should I keep these empty pages ?
After all now you have gone
*** MARKED FOR A MAKEOVER
"I can change and bring you
a brand new beautiful song ."

But your chorus has been depleted
There are no more a capellas
The voice of the turtle will remain mute
As you prefered living inside your bony shell


Then I said to you , "Now do I really give a hoot ?"


So I threw your letter into the can
That's where the trash belongs
I know I will never forget you
With that thought I will be moving on

You're the only one
who can make me
the happiest
and
the saddest.

Real grief is not shared nor uttered.
Real grief is bottled and fermented in it's host.

I had grafted for the best part of ten hours,  serving stupid smart people their breakfast lunch and dinner.
By the time I finished my shift and clocked out. I thought to myself, I don't care if they clone sheep here.
This job is not a winner.
Scientists, most of them.
Very intelligent people I'm told.
So I watched them eat and drink, wondering if their pockets are lined with gold.

Usually I'd leave work swiftly,  I could never wait to get home.
My body lethargic, almost anemic.
I wanted my bed, all to be alone.
I took off my work clothes and began to get dressed. Caught a glimpse of my frail body in the mirror. Never could gain weight,
I blamed it on stress.
I walked to my car outside.
Car park A, for arseholes no less.

The little girl
wearing a Navy blue dress
with a white collar
and black patton shoes
holds a red
helium balloon
as she walks down a path of clouds
through the vast wilderness
of space and time
representing life on overtime
a second home on a lake
a souring career
living with a man she is married to
but doesn't love anymore
and may never have
sings the song
"Twinkle Twinkle , Little Star"
and she is wondering
just how far