the teacups
pans
and plates

they all talk to me

i'm overcome with uncertainty

and no i'm not crazy

but silverware
appeals to
my senses

A little more tea Miss? His voice suddenly grasps me back to reality.
His politeness has always been
his best quality.

Yes Jerry, some more tea
will be fine.
I wouldn't say, but lately
I do prefer to drink wine.

His old shaking hand pours just enough, like his butler hand was taught.
Into the finest pink teacups my grandmother once bought.

How I long for my childhood days where I didn't need to sit and drink tea all day.
How I long for the days I was still young and free to play.

Now it's me and my lady like life,
where I'm only allowed to dream about becoming a mother and wife.

-ZvZ-

You've taken too long to come haunting,
wading through instances of mud, of regret,
until my wanting has all but dissolved.

You've broken my spine with curious fingertips,
an innocent ghost with fireplace eyes,
where questions went unnoticed, unsolved.

You've come knocking with empty cages,
pulling behind what you'd begged to forget,
you spoke to my spine like needles, absolved;

until my teacups are dust on the shelves
and your flowers don't wilt, but burn,
of stove and house and noose and all.