Friday, 1 February 2013

window ledge the early hours of the morning 
she sits at her window ledge 
and looks out onto the street
once in a while a a cool breeze 
hits her face
and in the orange streetlight glow
she spells out words from below
from 'disabled' she makes words
like able and bed and sad and led
 and sometimes
she lets her legs dangle 
the wind blows through her toes
and she knows, then 
deep down everything will be okay
but that's not to say 
she doesn't think about it 
in truth, she'd like to slide down the roof
for the thrill, to escape the still
life she's leading and
the crazy -ish she be dealing 
with in her head.