The Promised Land (Revised)

The Promised Land

She sees no colours, only black,
Her room is anonymous
The little things arranged
Without meaning
Or purpose
The sentimental trash she keeps
No longer matters
Anymore

Her senses are numbed
Each of her days much as the last
Estranged
Isolated
Cut off
Till she escapes to the Promised Land.

And so they cry
They feel better for crying for
Spilling words like water
From a paper cup.