Hayden

She had a fingernail stuck in the bow in her hair.
She had a number on her back and she was sitting there,
paying all attention to the numbers up in front.
Laying all her cards upon the table and she’s done.
It’s hard to tell the story at the time and place we’re in.
They thought they all would watch and listen
to the numbers,
even dumber than they were before.
They could be four, but really everyone wants
to be one.
And so did she.
But she was chewing on her pencil and gazing into space,
biting on her fingernails and rubbing on her face.
She can’t help but doodle numbers;
she can’t help but find a place,
a better place.
Any place.
All places are better than this place
if you’re in that state of head.
If you’re home alone in bed instead,
Or, like she said,
She scratched herself! It’s crazy like,
that never happens.
Never.

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