Blogging · Fiction · poetry

Lonely She…



She ate melancholy
by the spoon,
directly from the jar…

All her aprons
stained with
sorrow scars…

Knittting misery
mittens and
misery scarfs.

Making sigh-beads
Necklaces alone
In the dark…

Not a shriek,
not a squeal,
not a howl…
Just waiting for
the night, to take
her final bow.

14 thoughts on “Lonely She…

    1. Dear Anne, this comment really really touches me! Thank you!! I can hardly describe how it feels to read that some people connect with a bouquet of my words so vividly… I think it must be pretty similar to the feeling of a performer that gets applauded after the end of the play…. Except I am not on stage, and that’s really really great because I’ve got terrible stage fright!! πŸ˜‰

      Liked by 1 person

  1. The shadow.

    He saw himself
    Only at night
    With a certain grace
    In a certain light
    That vanished at the break of day
    In sunlight colour fades away

    A mirror showed him no reflection
    No responses. Cold rejections.
    Memories of the past. Illusions.
    Thoughts of future. Sad delusions.
    Forever in the dark to be
    A product of some fantasy

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Kind of sad… Especially knowing that both will be gone come dawn. But if they both revive when the sun will set again, all is good in the end πŸ˜‰ This is going to your private boudoir in a minute, good Sir! Thank you for the little gem πŸ˜‰ xx


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