She sits, <br />As the cigarette smoke smothers her eyes. <br />She sits, <br />And tastes the wine with its rotten, crumbling cork. <br />She sits, <br />Like a happy snap-shot, with a smile that is not there. <br />She sits, <br />Solitary, in silence as the party surrounds. <br />She sits, <br />And hears all the ‘tellings’ of parental warnings. <br /> <br />She fears, <br />The drunkards breath, laced with lustful words. <br />She fears, <br />The bile of forgotten pills, burning her throat again. <br />She fears, <br />The dust collecting on anniversary glasses. <br />She fears, <br />The taps and scratches on the window three floors up. <br /> <br />She feels, <br />The toxic bleach, peeling away delicate layers. <br />She feels, <br />The uncracked pepper-corn, crushed ‘tween teeth and tongue. <br />She feels, <br />The flowers cling to life - the vase empty of water. <br />She feels, <br />The stabbing at her secret imagination. <br />She feels, <br />Part of “It” without express permission.<br /><br />Alice Anne Gordon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paranoid-perceptions/
