She comes here every other day,
except the tomorrows and yesterdays,
and on these days she stands in front of the pretending onlookers
to bleed the contents of her heart, through opium induced stanzas.
She mounts a podium, and now the pretending onlookers can no longer pretend.
They now look from the corner of their eyes.
And then she speaks,
Her voice soothing yet cautious like green swimming pools in mid July.
Her verses were meticulously woven to rob our faces of its emotion,
Only the small strategic pauses she takes to catch her breath hint at humanity
and like the sirens songs, we forget how to cry.
She ends her eulogy of the truth and exits,
as they succumb to the loud silence