Her December (2002 approx.)

her december


the tram pulled up for
the last time that night
a landscape filled with nothing
and a phone booth,
a last hope

there were wires,
along the tracks,
disappering in both ends
an empty square stared back,
she refused to look
a distant arguement came closer,
disappeared
foot steps from people,
no one could see
walked by
circles, closing in

stained with her disgust,
the skirt danced in the wind
picked up pace, then died
knee high boots,
were frozen to the floor
concentrating
dialing
no answer

the long walk home didn't seem,
like a very good idea
as the phone fell and,
hit the floor
the journey had begun,
as she turned around
wind blew through her

a ripped shirt,
offers no protection

black as night,
she walked alone
a night when dreams were crushed,
had only just begun


--Säker
Not edited