The Ball's in My Court

rocks glass ice melting
your memory
as the crack in reality's
mirror grows each day.

can't I be saved, too?

gray, it shone wet on pavement;
tangible silence
broken apart by the red, red lipstick
that you swore you'd never wear.

as if dirt being thrown into a grave.

crashing calls on lifeless couch;
envy and pain for other days.
This day lost, as if never before.
numbness, it did matter.

you save yourself.

poetry.
poetry.
poetry.

© 2004 Jeremy Smyers

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