luciatripepi

Quietly I sit, and listen to the ticking. Empty chairs around me, blank page on my lap. At intervals, next door, the trill of phones And the answering chirp Interrupt the keyboard's tapping. Bland words strained through a perpetual smile Lukewarm and sterile as the cream-painted walls. From above, on hearing's edge, drift murmurs, As tangled thoughts are unpicked And troubled minds laid bare. Toys beside me in a plastic crate. It would have been a trove, once - Comfort used to be so simple. Through today's eyes, they appear lifeless And lonely. Spiderman lies, legs twisted, beneath a car. Action figures limply await their next