Silver nails

Twisting intestines
dropping inside leaving an emptiness
to be filled with "it's going to be ok"
I sit on the edge of my bed
painting my finger nails silver
as you tell me about how your mother
passed away
brushing gray hair floats into wind
I'm so sorry to hear
"It's ok" you say
"I don't really feel sad"
The yellow white christmas lights
green strung on top of the bed
they're going to come down
some time soon anyway
we fade into the front of the stage
the paint brush leaves a mark
only time will outgrow
summer night breeze
kitten sneezes
grandpa waves good bye as he turns
to open to the door
I back out of the driveway to return
to a party that's dead
I hate this.