In the garden she walks

Thorns in her hands

From the plant she touched

Bottles of wine in her thoughts

Amber in her blood

Whiskey on her breath

Gazing at a brick wall

Wondering what is next

Her soul is sold

Knowing she shouldn’t have walked through that


Room of lessons

He is her lesson

Lesson of less than

And she is taught

Just for one second

Everything changed for one ever

It changed to a never

He collected his score

If she died tomorrow

Would there be remorse?

But when you play by the score

You forget

It’s not a game

And when the chips fall down

No one sings those old sayings

When the casket takes its bow

But he was taught

Just the looks in their eyes

The air around their mouths

The gold paint that they carried

As they walked

Hit the buzzer to hit the button

Its time to clock in

Her turn her job

But she cant pay her rent

Broken doll

Severed head

Drop the curtains for her exit


Poem by Keota Picou


One thought on “Dead?

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