Thus I lie here.
Not the usual empty tea cup by my side, but a bottle of bitter lemon. I like the sparkling bitter taste. In the morning it makes me vomit, in the evening it makes me mellow.
Who do you think I am always talking to? Why do ghosts return although they don’t ever face you again?
Ah, no I have never truly cared what my parents thought, and so vice versa, and up from then I spoke of everything openly without caring what others assume to be the truth. It is commonly known that women do everything for love, except to shut their mouth (I bet Shakespeare has said this somewhere between the lines).
Simply my own truth which will cost me my head but I am sure I mentioned before I rather die a martyr than a failed poet.
And now…I will lift my strengthened back up from the sheets, open the curtains, get dressed and move the pictures back where they came from a week ago, a year ago…into the fire.