Sitting at a table waiting for a girl that will never arrive,
Next to me, I watch as her easy grin melts into her mouth,
Checking my phone three times a minute for a text that will never be delivered,
I reach out and grab her hand to feel she’s real,
Staring at my reflection wondering what part of me is not good enough,
Her eyelids droop, but mischief dances behind her grey and red
And everything around me goes up in smoke.
a poem about moving on by escaping reality