By Carly Floyd
12/27/09
At night, when sleep escapes me, and
My brain will not quiet, I think of what
My future might be like.
I imagine a dark apartment
A brooding woman over a glass of wine
Reflecting on past promises that did not bear fruit.
Wishing perhaps to attract pity,
If only in desperate need of attention,
But there is no one to notice her darkened heart.
This loneliness is not imagined or thought,
It is real.
Finally something to complain about,
Not just the dark musings of one who loves the black.
But no one to see her waste away.
If a spinster dies unknown in a darkened
room, did she ever really die?
Or never truly live?
The truth lies in the latter, I think, and
such is my future, alone.
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