Loneliness written on the welts
raking her skin, self inflicted
when her nails
dug into her own flesh
so the scream on her lips
would die a strangled death
Each day more difficult
to get through, craving
the touch of another
To what depths
can she fall in her search
beyond the plunging neckline
she hopes will attract attention
Perhaps her skirt
should sit lower
ride higher
Somebody will notice
even in the crowded carriage
Eyes will meet
a silent message exchanged
She knew no lasting love
would come
of such a sordid tryst
But her ambitions
are not so lofty anymore
Even a night of lust
will suffice
She can no longer bear
to face an empty bed

© 2015 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved

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