By Isabella Melians
(@isabellam_04)
at 7pm in july
a prayer is carved into the side
of a red can
vermillion paint nestles beneath your nails
and the liquid drips like saliva
from your fingertips
and onto the floor
you feel alone
the videocameras do you no justice
they paint you as ethereal
they do not show your purple-ringed eyes
or chipped tooth
or unkempt hair
don’t they know you are tired?
you are not flawless
you are not holy
in here,
life does not exist
can you feel the desolation
of humid air
and of empty wrappers lying dusty on tiles floors
no longer promising a short lived ecstasy
silence echoes in moldy aisles
can you feel the call of the void?
outside gasoline drips
on the chalky, cruel pavement
knitting it’s way through cracks
and claiming lives:
a dandelion
an ant
and thistle
you wonder if they felt pain
He drives away in a rusted pickup truck
with flowers sprouting
in the tailpipe
their petals painted grey from exhaust
the mirrors are shattered,
the license plate missing-
He doesn’t look back
you are nothing to Him