kitchen tables, long nights.

dead eyes observed ordinary yellow walls,
wooden floorboards dirty with age,
cigarette ash litters the table,
wind permeating smoke through the air.

thoughtless, emotionless, numb,
she sat for hours,
blankly observing with her dull green eyes,
a book, a cigarette, a show, a wall.

the shouts didnt faze her,
she rarely noticed a burn,
or a scratch, or a bruise.
no one ever really saw.

its not just tea in her mug,
warming her numb insides,
spreading fire within her.

another cigarette to spend the time.