issabelle
Sunday morning,
sky so pale,
you walk into the living room
only to find
bare walls and the old sofa
you found sitting on the curb.
When you look at the furniture,
all you see her sitting there;
her eyes burn two holes into you,
and like a basilisk,
she's turned you into a statue.
Don't leave,
I can change,
I love you;
you tell every excuse under the sun
to make her stay,
but she's tuned you out.
She's out the door now,
and she's getting inside the car.
You run outside
but she pulls out of the driveway,
and there's nothing you can do.
Now, you sit on the sofa
and stare out the window.
Like a lost puppy, you
just sit there and wait
and wait;
in case she comes back.
She was supposed to be the perfect example, the obedient child in the class. The teachers often asked her to demonstrate to the class for various things, which made the other kids hate her. They'd call her a "teacher's pet", or any variation of that.
The world is her playground, but it's an empty one. She's like a hollowed out shell, empty and void of any warmth. She longs to feel a warmth that only another could give her.