No.106. Poem by Kevin East

At no.106 she sits in the dark
Watches snowflakes fall and gently park.
Cruel lights as rats race home
Her only guest one gaerden gnome
On her dresser is perfume, 'Elizabeth Arden'
And make-up she now doesn't use
She still sees him smile, her heart wouldn't harden
Though beauty numbs she still tries to enthuse.
Silence screams-so unforgiving
She spills her blood with ink in prose
The only proof the dead are living
With pills and booze the feeling goes.
She lies unloved as the devil's clock ticks
A countdown to suicide at 106.

At no.106 the world isn't fair so
She takes in some wine and an Elgar concerto
She floats in a haze like a butterfly in hell
Her nights meet her days with a silent death knell
Memories all bad, save for love's only drummer
One lonely swallow never made a summer.
She still holds his hand, in dreams they still meet
The life they both planned blows down a dark street.

She kisses a photo that never was taken,
A poem not written, a love not foresaken.
But reality rises with the dawn and cuts her like a knife
On her knees she prays, though forlorn
At no.106 still clinging to life.