This poem ,like the paining vividly reflects the turmoil in the stillness
You carefully applied grey eyeshadow and long strokes of black mascara.
The image in the mirror never appeased.
You brushed your long fair hair and considered tying it back.
Instead you chose to leave it free.
In your small red handbag you placed keys, mobile, wallet,
cigarettes and lighter, a miniature vodka and some valium.
A blue ford escort minicab took you there.
You talked to the driver about your life, your family, your country.
Paying the fare, you thanked him and said that you were fine.
It was dark and cold, the grass wet from the morning’s rain.
The moon shone luminously.
You ran all the way, the driver of the cab calling after you.
Feet wet in impractical shoes.
Your breathing coming fast and loud, heart pounding,
mascara tears trickled down your face.
The sound of traffic and the cabbies voice grew fainter.
You could see the edge…
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