By Isabella Melians
(@isabellam_04)
at 7pm in july
a prayer is carved into the sideÂ
of a red can
vermillion paint nestles beneath your nailsÂ
and the liquid drips like salivaÂ
from your fingertipsÂ
and onto the floor
you feel alone
the videocameras do you no justice
they paint you as etherealÂ
they do not show your purple-ringed eyes
or chipped tooth
or unkempt hair
don’t they know you are tired?
you are not flawlessÂ
you are not holy
in here,
life does not existÂ
can you feel the desolationÂ
of humid air
and of empty wrappers lying dusty on tiles floors
no longer promising a short lived ecstasyÂ
silence echoes in moldy aislesÂ
can you feel the call of the void?
outside gasoline drips
on the chalky, cruel pavementÂ
knitting it’s way through cracks
and claiming lives:
a dandelionÂ
an antÂ
and thistleÂ
you wonder if they felt pain
He drives away in a rusted pickup truck
with flowers sproutingÂ
in the tailpipe
their petals painted grey from exhaustÂ
the mirrors are shattered,
the license plate missing-
He doesn’t look back
you are nothing to Him