The Woman with No Curtains – – Chanel Douglas

The Woman with No Curtains

Chanel Douglas

Dark drapes droop from her dilated daisies

Her slippers slither wooden milestones


Winds open her windows

Shouting scars, stories, and bedsheets

Filled with secrets


Her bed

Layered in lies and linguistic latitude

She talks on the phone

Fun before feelings fall


Her curtains do not blow without memories

So she blows

Blooded bruises bind higher than a building

Taller than the curtains she will never have


Folded corners fracture

Unfinished furniture fumbles

And the dim light bulb in their bedroom breaks

Igniting a flame next to the fireplace, near the curtains


Her cigarette balances on the ashtray like a circus act

Snowflakes fall underneath its grey cloud of consciousness

Crocodiles wait at the pit of the tray, waiting for snowflakes to fall into their mouths

Like feeding time at the zoo


She saunters, fully nude

Skin surrenders, as surfacing eyes watch

In reality, she is sealed shut

Suffocating like a snail enslaved in its cavity


She hides underneath the ceiling fan

Holding its winds like a great God

It spins, spiraling her mind down slides

Its dust drizzles over her dreams, drowning from dehydration


She buys things like pain, peace of mind, pillows & curtains

Reaching for platonic people & pandemonium purposes

But her drapes will always fall flat




Drops the curtains


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