One Twenty Seven


She
Lays awake
And thinks
About the skeletons
Of her former lovers
Underneath her bed.

She tries to forget that
The ghosts still stay in her closet
As she chokes on
The stench of a thousand colognes
Blending into one sorrowful flavor of
Broken promises.

The roses on her bedsheets lay rotten
As she stares into the ceiling
Wishing she could disappear
As the world sleeps quietly
At one twenty seven
In the morning.

One Twenty Seven

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