the holy room of absence
a bowlful of fruit uneaten
nobody comes home
sex is a message unsent in sheets
you are so dead
this silence disappoints
reality weighs this room down
the applause has ended
what is left of you
in this collective refusal to speak
to contribute
I stare at your face -it was supposed to be a good day-
but it never came through
I hold you in my arms
away from all spectators
as long as there’s fruit in the bowl
no matter how rotten
you lived your life in a world unknown
and the sounds that come out of this man’s mouth
make you feel so obsolete
so soon
Croque-Melpomene 