Black

I'm the woman who always wears black. I keep mourning occasionally. The way is do not speak, seems an entity and scare. Sometimes I choose black because I like it and I'm used.

I'm barefoot in the middle of the disorder. I'm tired of the sweetness of a single day. I hate the days following. It's always the same.

Shit. Black. Shit. Black. Shit. Black

Not asking for much, but whenever things go worse. I can not leave the pit.  I tried. 
Now, I'm sinking. I scream. No one hears me.


Shit. Black. Shit. Black. Shit. Black.

I look for a black dress. I wear it.  I comb my  hair and I look in the mirror.  I begin to mourn. With my tears I paint my face. It's not enough, so I take the makeup. I remove the sadness. I grab my keys and my purse. I walk, but I have no where to go.


Shit. Black. Shit. Black. Shit. Black.

I spend a few hours. They look at me and I hate them. One comes up to me and I spray all my beer in his pants. Go away, liar. Let me alone.

Shit. Black. Shit. Black. Shit. Black.

I light a cigarette. I start singing.  My face is wet. Damn, I'm crying.  I walk. I have no fear. They should be afraid of me. I'm still crying. I cross the highway. Go back home. I sit on the floor. All my clothes around me. It's a fucking mess. I see a spider. I go to the kitchen. I take the ice cream. I'm back on the floor. I eat and sing, alone.