Jones

Some days,
she does not

bother getting out of bed.

Some days,
she looks

from the clock to the wall.

Some days,
she drinks

more than she eats.

Some days,
she vomits

more than she drinks.

Some days,
she cries,

but there are never tears.

Some days,
she smokes.

Some days,
she burns

her fingertips.

Some days,
she writes

on the wall over her bed.

Some days,
she reads

the lies.

Some days,
she sees

his eyes behind her own.

Some days,
she sees

his knives, red and hot.

Some days,
she begs him

for his return.

Some days,
she is

more alone than she thought possible.

Some days,
she bleeds

inside her broken heart.

Some days,
she is

nothing.

Some days,
she is

enough.

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0 Responses to Jones

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    That wrenched me all over the place and made me feel things in the way that nothing artificial ever does. This is great, Jones, great. But I do wonder what it’s about, with a title that mysterious.

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