autopilot

A Poem by steph

yesterday was a tragedy
car crashes and influenza
all over the news.
she stayed in bed to wait
for the wind to stop.

her hair is brown-
naturally. golden painted
by some over the counter box.
her nails are short and jagged
telling the stories of
nervous nights
and one line too much.

she listens.

love, she thinks,
is going to walk through that door
fold her in it's arms
and make it okay.

theres blood on her hand-
figuratively. something about
the night before and
the words he whispered
and she will always be his.

that was before slipping out of bed
and searching through the wallet
that was left on the nightstand.
after she made the decision
that this wasn't where she needed to be.

and if home is where you hang your heart
then a cab ride upstate is far better suited.