trudy

 
________________________

My legs are cold.

My body is hot from the dry air blowing on me
Its 4:42am ....my window is sweating, im wet..

Late again... i think to myself as i hear trudy's 9 plus  keys up against the cold glass door, she rushs in from the cold, fresh coffee starts to fill the air

I wish i could tell her how beautiful she is.

Her color dyed black hair with purple stains , nose earing and tattoos of red roses just mask the pain she feels inside,

I watch her day after day, its not that she doesn't have talent, her voice fills the room like a seasoned operatic superstar, regel , soft and powerful. I cry.

She only sings alone.

honored I listen to every note, yet i can do or say nothing.

I really think im in love.

Her greatness muted by self loathing.. tragic...

Or is it?,

why?  

Whom am I to judge for I am just the
Caffinated fly on the window..