The broken bottle of perfume still spills on the vanity room floor.
The make up all clustered together in a color palette of ruins.
I called the hospital they said you would be on another seventy-hour hold.
We have done this before.
I can't recall loving anyone else in such a perfect union.
We can sell the house and move to a quieter street where the people don't gossip as much. Maybe a home on the coast of Oregon?
I never told you because consultant Hall said to not feed your delusions but I see the ghosts in the mirrors too.
I see them mocking, I see them knocking. There tragically accurate at the timing of stressing us when we're most naked to their obsession. I have no idea if the world would even entertain such a question but do others see these grave jumpers too?
We just need a new perfect view.