she's in the centre of her room
her life
plates with cream left on them
on the floor
but with rubbed off make up
a trace of laughter can be tracked down
in an empty glass
pale woman
try not to sing the same tune
blue after blue
alone at home
she knows he felt for her
when she spiraled down so
when she spiraled down so
still, she feels uneasy with her own thoughts
but the scent of lilac
the feel of springtime
though just ghostly
mauve after mauve
they are still there
washing thru her wiley hair
