I wait
my breathing shallow
for the footsteps
on the squeaky stair
my lungs feeling empty
rasping
lost my voice to the loud
‘hello’?
mouth dry
like old air
of that last time
in there
memory fail me now
let’s not remember
brain cells, teach
me how to forget
in the hall
outside the door
at the top of the stairs
Published by Pleasant Street
Pleasant Street appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design.
Around these parts people call her Rose.
She is a moody poet and a frustrated writer of stories.
Movie lover.
Cake eater.
Bread baker.
She is still trying to figure out a way to use baked goods as currency.
View all posts by Pleasant Street
Excellent – leaves a lot to the reader
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thank you
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