can i,
can i,
can i,
could i,
disappear slowly into language?
become the letters on the page and be read a million times over,
interpreted by thousands of eyes?
why did she inhale as if she would cry,
why was she holding back,
can she not live in truth?
in honesty?
does it always have to be poetry or fiction,
fantasy in which she knows nothing?
she does not recognize the places described in words too long to read,
she does not pay attention,
but it is not her fault.
she will find her dark blue chair cafe,
where the bead curtains announce every visitor,
where the sun falls in at an angle
to highlight the eclectic collection of beautiful useless things.
this is what she dreams of,
large rooms with small details,
surrounded by radiance,
all she needs.
an escape from the ugly thoughts,
that tug at her with importance.
they fight to be first,
nothing matters,
they do not exist.
one thought walks into the cafe,
he is greeted by a disgusted stare from the barista:
“you are not welcome here,
in case you forgot about last time.”
she sits on one of the chairs,
unaware of his wrongdoings,
she drifted off again.