so, that is how it feels afterwards,
empty hands, empty eyes.
astonishing things land in a suitcase,
useless trinkets crushed by a knee,
strapped. buckled. leave a key. you
are not coming back. today is solid.
tomorrow doesn’t exist. I’m running
down spiral stairs, stumbling
at the same spot on nothing. I’m not
waiting. I’m picking out sausage
from a pizza because I don’t like it.
TV channels are changing, fluctuating
the weather. it’s time to thaw.
I’m listening how ocean waves crash
in an empty shell.

by Ivona Sophia

Other poems of SOPHIA (58)

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