She measures self worth in numbers -
Numbers like the seven he gave her last night,
Scribbled on a coffee shop napkin.
She's like a butterfly, you see;
Wondrous on the outside
But blank within
Fluid, without shape or body or mind -
No spine.
She is whatever words are thrown her way.
She is numbers,
A simple code, a formula,
To which the answer will always be
"I'll see you at eight," or
"Call me," or sometimes just "Yes."
Easy.
She's shapeless conformity,
And when she wakes up someplace new,
She counts the numbers down:
Five, Four, Three, Two -
One time she had her own edges,
But that's neither here nor there, really.
Yesterday, she was seven digits,
But today, for now,
She's zero.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
She measures self worth in numbers -
Numbers like the seven he gave her last night,
Scribbled on a coffee shop napkin.
She's like a butterfly, you see;
Wondrous on the outside
But blank within
Fluid, without shape or body or mind -
No spine.
She is whatever words are thrown her way.
She is numbers,
A simple code, a formula,
To which the answer will always be
"I'll see you at eight," or
"Call me," or sometimes just "Yes."
Easy.
She's shapeless conformity,
And when she wakes up someplace new,
She counts the numbers down:
Five, Four, Three, Two -
One time she had her own edges,
But that's neither here nor there, really.
Yesterday, she was seven digits,
But today, for now,
She's zero.