On her way away
She’s on her way
away
from borrowed
blood
and pills with
side affects.
She’s on her way
away
from instant mash
and soft detached
voices.
Refuses to talk
about it:
no goodbyes, only
see yous.
But yesterday she
told us
not to keep her velvet
sofa.
She’s on her way
away
from white walls
and the smell of
decay,
but she’s not
going home.
Yet, she asks for
tweezers;
there are strands
of hair
growing on her
chin.
She wants to pluck
them.
Not to impress the
doctors,
but the angels and
devils
waiting.
©Lou Ice 09