I found myself standing in the produce section
looking into the mirrors behind the vegetables.
Why's there a mirror here in the first place?
I lean in so close that my breath fogs the mirror,
I bite my lip to keep myself here, in the store.
I trace a heart in the fog with my pinky.
Slowly I glide my pinky across it, slash.
It shall no longer beat nor ache for something it can never have.
Maybe a young girl will come grab some broccoli for her mother,
And see the heart. I hope she takes it as a forewarning.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
I found myself standing in the produce section
looking into the mirrors behind the vegetables.
Why's there a mirror here in the first place?
I lean in so close that my breath fogs the mirror,
I bite my lip to keep myself here, in the store.
I trace a heart in the fog with my pinky.
Slowly I glide my pinky across it, slash.
It shall no longer beat nor ache for something it can never have.
Maybe a young girl will come grab some broccoli for her mother,
And see the heart. I hope she takes it as a forewarning.
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