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Description
eggshell white porclein
in the place where the
footsteps echo
the inviting empty bowl
makes no move
only i stand in the hole
my feet have dug

tip toe tip toe
i am not to be discovered as my legs crash together
like thunderous waves in a raging sea
(rubbing me the wrong way)

the sequence is now an art
and
glancing at the tiny refuge i have made
i notice my decorations for the millionth time

the little brown broken squares
that trace my beaten path-
the speackled mirror
with only my ugly image for company-
the stained wallpaper that once was as creamy as a
wedding dress and
now resembles dog shit-
and lastly my welcoming committee, all dressed up in pale blue
glassy water that gleams when I leave

left all the more sparkling