blue sky with clouds every month like the moon, when the wine of her life spills, she becomes a widow to herself.

an offering of blood in exchange for the freedom to choose.
unhinged and like a good widow
she keeps a meticulous house
scrubbing the dishes
wiping the counters
clutching the dishrags
and even though she's always been alone
and it was just her dreams that died
she still runs to the bathroom
to be alone when she cries
and when she can muster the courage
to leave the house
she paints her smile on
walking in straight lines
sinking deeper just
dying for someone to catch her
she is a widow to herself
but she keeps a meticulous house
.fallen "...she keeps a meticulous house"

the sentiment echoes much like the echo of unkeepable
unhinged . 090529
flowerock These words are perfect for what they describe.

My body mourns that it is alone inside, cries red tears. My heart weeps but smiles, she knows it's just part of the cycle. My body swells and aches, confused. Pulled in too many directions to settle on a feeling or thought until I'm empty and free again to choose whether to open or close the curtains.
fw By these words I meant the words of others before me here, not my words... 150421
unhinged battered_woman_syndrome 150421
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