"time after time..."

thanks cyndi. for nothing.

she looked high and low. in the sugar bowl, the trash can. in the hope chest, the fishbowl. under the cushions, even, and then under the couch itself. never did find cyndi, or a single one of her aquanet groupies, either.

just another case of unreliable media, she supposed.

[broken promises].

she was used to being
lied to,
left behind.

in an act of retaliation,
[self-pity]
she did what any girl
in her position
would normally do:

prepared a snack of one-and-a-half-grapefruits, no sugar. sucked the juice from the rinds and tossed them into the sink. toasted a-half-of-a-pita, whole wheat. smeared it with peanut-butter-and-organic-honey. stuffed two-mini-krackle-bars-into-the-pouch, folded it over.

threw it all down her throat &
finished with a glass of flattened champagne.






don't be fooled.
in those rare times
of sadness,
she let the mascara,
the eyeliner,
run in tracks down
her face.
left them there,

overnight,
as proof of the way
she'd been
feeling.