No One To Listen
By Jean Roy
I’ve poured my heart into every word,
along with a bottle of scotch to calm my nerves.
I notice the inconsistent scribbles inside my dollar store notebook.
Some of these pages remain tear stained and wrinkled from
previous nights of frustration.
I speak aloud
as If you could taste the pain in my words
but my walls are my only witnesses,
and even they have grown tired
of listening to anything I have to say.
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