From one, to one, to one, to one On the out-step of her sanity She was sitting, composed, yet messy The clothes on the line were drying, So individually, she had noticed Their fading birthly byes, years old Gave it all to the wind So meaningfully, though there was nothing to be actually Celebrating, on this tired today. She’d ran out of enough washing powder Before putting the clothes, intertwining in fury Into the washing machine, but that was before- She’d have to get some more Her hair wrote it in the wind- She was getting all thinner. It was all the washing Nothing to do with the glossy magazines That proudly guarded the shops Abreast with so many words She didn’t have enough much money To take some home for herself anyway And she thought about who did Using every one of her eyelashes. It was fairly warm within the brick block But she enjoyed it better on the brink Side by side with the pebble dash The long orange glow of the warm Made her feel quite static So she didn’t like being so static And she was deprived, deprived now Of the right to smoke the comforting menthol Of her fresher days Into the in deeps of her systems Dusty smoke being the words of her world Of prior indignance The clouds were moving slower Than her own pegged washing She was glad to see Silently
Bits of this I loved. I think I remember reading some of your work a while back, and liking it very much...if I remember rightly, that is. Thank you for this X
This was quite impressive! I really love how those first few lines open it and the rest just flows out so calmly, almost methodical. Wonderful stuff!
