Reading between the lines of the things left unsaid
she painted images
with her eyes.
She’s got the world spinning around her
she’s got the stars in the night
talking to her dreams.
She’s got a phone number written on a napkin
in lipstick red.
It’s an old relic of some old used to be.
Used to be there was magic
somewhere in the whispers.
They’re all ghosts now.
They’re tears shed on the carpet in the centre
of her room.
She’s leaving pieces of herself behind
looking for new ways to draw
herself into the place
the place where she used to be.
She’s got her reflection in the window
barely recognizing the opening in the doorway.
And she’s got the whispers of the things left unsaid floating through her mind.