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.
