Night

Hands point to the middle of the night,
and the wind pauses
for a moment.
Electric bulbs flicker, silently.
A couple moans,
a drunk girl weeps,
the stars look down, indifferent.

Pretences fall, and make up smears,
and children laugh at sleepovers.
Night time falls,
and truth spills out,
in a gleaming mess
of broken hearts.

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About abigailbaross

Writer and aspiring publisher
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