by Matt Turner
Soap-operatic sighs rise from botox lips of enslaving
mechanical creations of the monetarily hued maw of mass
production and solitary escapement.
She sits on her caffe modesto leather lined love seat without
anybody to love.
"If you could have a day at the beach, what would it be?"
Softened saxophonal tunes sweetly hatch to her sorrowed tears,
washing the midnight plum eyeliner from her hazel green eyes (a
horrible match).
She remembers,
"Still half a pizza in the fridge."
"Would I care about me if I
were somebody else?"
The generic before and after pictures are always viewed with a
strange sense of disgust and envy. Steve Perry continues the flow.
"Would I care...
"
Expansion forbade in light of her confining lunar gaze,
mass produced and intent on illusionary and solitary expansion
in the comfortable confines of the shallow self.
"Can gourmet and store-bought
be one in the same?"
She resolves the answer must be no, but begrudges not
the gourmet bag of store-bought coffee on top of the microwave.
Matt Turner is a high school student in Washington State. "The Lonely" is his first published work, but more of his poetry is available at his blog The Eccentric Mind Poetry.
