Raindrops fall from eyes
That see deep in pitch black.
A sixth sense,
She knows what you choose to ignore.
The 'I can't believe you missed that.'
She knows your secrets,
The things you hate about yourself,
Things you wouldn't tell your mother.
All this and more.
She knows where your sin hides.
She lived within your
demented, manic moods.
Secrets that lie quiet in the grout of tiled bathroom floors.
Hushed stories that lie beneath
recarpeted floors and silent stillness
of empty souls left to scream
in winter woods.
Holding back the river,
Skillfully keeping within its banks
The angry waters of emotion.
She believes in karma.
One day it was you who blinked
on your way down river.
All Rights Reserved. Rhonda S. Grace.
This poem is fictional.
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