These four walls

With clothes 2 sizes too small

I will never be a mother,  a martyr

All i have is gold

Soft, pliable gold

No green, no warmth, no home

Empty womb, thirty years old

This is me, alone

These four walls are all i own

Red wine fills my veins and shows me the truth

Complete utter failure, watching jane on a borrowed laptop

Wish i was jane

Wishing and dying

Dying but breathing

Never dying

But always feeling

This is me, alone