Sandpaper Garden

Sandpaper Garden

The cold gray 

of a concrete morning,

the subtle sounds of solitude

echoing past the flowers

of her non excitant

sandpaper garden.

And she is finished

making sense.

Blankly staring

at the scars

made at midnight,

raised and red.

She covers her wrists

with the hand warmers

grandma made.

Turning up the radio,

letting the music

give her momentum

for who knows what.

And she keeps the razorblade

on a chain

around her neck.

Always looking for somewhere

to beautifully

go to sleep.

Forever.

Reviews

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

a chilling beauty in maccabre surreality~wrapped so tightly against the shadows that creep in on the edge of steel~