To those days of thinking,
where something on our mind
just makes us stand,
and stare.
Where we feel lonely and empty,
yet surrounded,
by the furniture,
the walls and the clutter,
the clutter we continue to procrastinate about,
“I’ll get it later,” repeating to ourselves,
The mess grows more everyday.
She is broken,
heart broken,
she recently got the news on note,
the note she holds at the tips of her fingers
says written in black ink,
“move out, it’s over.”
She had just woken up,
naked,
to a lonely bed and a lonely house.
She slips on her yellow and blue stripped underwear
and white collared shirt before
she approaches what was once the living room
full of furniture and decorations,
What is now filled with her belongings.
Clothes, paintings, pictures,
all scattered,
in and pouring out the brown-worn out boxes.
It is quiet and still
like the painting left hung on the naked wall,
she stands,
and thinks.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
To those days of thinking,
where something on our mind
just makes us stand,
and stare.
Where we feel lonely and empty,
yet surrounded,
by the furniture,
the walls and the clutter,
the clutter we continue to procrastinate about,
“I’ll get it later,” repeating to ourselves,
The mess grows more everyday.
She is broken,
heart broken,
she recently got the news on note,
the note she holds at the tips of her fingers
says written in black ink,
“move out, it’s over.”
She had just woken up,
naked,
to a lonely bed and a lonely house.
She slips on her yellow and blue stripped underwear
and white collared shirt before
she approaches what was once the living room
full of furniture and decorations,
What is now filled with her belongings.
Clothes, paintings, pictures,
all scattered,
in and pouring out the brown-worn out boxes.
It is quiet and still
like the painting left hung on the naked wall,
she stands,
and thinks.
