Once a day , you could say
she escaped from the jail .

At the gate she would wait
and then bring in the mail .

Back inside where she’d hide ,
the way she really felt .

Who’s to blame in a game
where cards are badly dealt .

French perfumes ,
extra rooms for all her designer clothes .

Home duties ,
foot poofies , the midday TV shows.

Polished floors , louvre doors ,
a touch slightly surreal .

Silken sheets , old antiques ,
a whiter shade of pale .

Chiffoniers , chandeliers ,
everything in its place .

Just like her , its unfair ,
the fears she had to face .

It was sad , all she had
was empty and untrue .

Love was gone , she stayed on ,
with the things no one knew.

Angry screams ,
broken dreams in a beautiful jail .

Doing time , for a crime
and marriage posted bail .

Black bruises , blown fuses ,
in the end had its toll -

She broke free and then she kissed goodbye to it all .






By Paul McCann