she’s beating at her beating breast,
the times asessed,
so you pity the ones who had to wait
or was that the sound of emptiness grinding her gears?
you see her in her room,
she’s shaddowed for a few
and then wakes up, pained because she’s holding
in her hands.
you pity the ones who have time to waste,
lying their days down like stackable plates
silverware not too shiny but kept cleansed to prevent from going dull,
you wonder if the void is truly null,
or if she chooses to even hear you at all.
so you’re going closer, to zoom in on her pupils,
so you’re saying “tempestuous” now she’s glowering ether
her eyes dialate like an incoming storm,
and you’d best pet her so we don’t release her
she wasn’t pitied, she wasn’t given in to you quick
but even as she hesitates it makes you feel sick
to think that even plaster figurines could break so evenly
just when you thought your stupid eyes weren’t even looking
Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry