I have:

Ten

dresses of my own skin

My lanugo was used as a thread

Ten

books up on my shelf

All for need but all unread

And ten

Different lipsticks

Which I never wear.

Ten rusty flasks of tears,

stripes of hair

and ten dusty perfume bottles,

bringing me despair

I bought ten roses to the ones I loved

Which I never gave.

This time, I admired a soul

But they never cared.

So just like everything else

That’s laying dead there

It will all soon be a memory

That I will more than just dread.