An Apartment Called Death

Every day the woman wakes and folds her origami up

With broken promises and pretty lies

Desperate I love yous and sordid goodbyes

Haven’t I given enough?s and everything is fine

Her grade school days have taught her all the perks of being a wallflower

Or, rather, what she likes to call her invisibility powers

So she folds her origami in the sanctimonious silence of the winds

Beckoning cautiously so as not to provoke the grave

Of a man who no longer deserves her last name

The woman is unfazed by her existence and the prospect that it could end

She welcomes the idea of its absence, nurtures it

As if housing an abandoned newborn on her doorstep

Perhaps that is why when her haphazard paper crane took its last breath

The woman flew with it, into an apartment called death