She wakes up on Sunday
And paints her face orange
She wakes up on Monday
And paints her eyes blue
On Tuesday her long curly hair is let down
But only after she paints each strand brown
She looks up at the sky as to work she walks
And paints each stranger that never talks
As if caught in a dream
She paints a city scene
As she walks
She trips
She falls
Down the rabbit hole
It wasn't there yesterday
She reaches for
Her can of paint
Grasping empty air
It isn't there
It's nowhere to be seen
She has no company
She cries herself
To sleep
And..
She wakes up on Sunday
In the mirror: a pale face
Look even closer: eyes of grey
She touches the strands
Of her silky black hair
And never once reaches
For the paint can
That isn't there
Paint
- May 13, 2009
- ItsAPirate
- No Comments
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