She dips into trouble with ease,
ignoring the signs that lead to
Logic Avenue.
And when she’s on that road,
she becomes unrecognizable
to those who know her.
She turns into someone else,
not the person they’ve always
known.

She dips into trouble only on
whims that she can see.
Via waves of emotions that
only she can feel.
That she collects in a painted
box that she’s lost the key to.
And because she can’t find
it she breaks the box.

She dips into trouble that is
familiar and routine. The
relationship like a rollercoaster
on a Saturday night.
Full of highs and lows,
curves and dips.
And oblivious to the effectiveness
of the safety bar and noisy
movement.

They ask her why she doesn’t
get of the coaster. But she
doesn’t reply. So no one
knows. And if she does,
she doesn’t say.

She dips into trouble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Khashayar Kouchpeydeh on Unsplash