Gloomy sunshine, ineffable coffee, and lies that cake the day,
Monotone silences and idle gossip and smiles that just decay,
Laughter that fizzles past the lips of superfluous strangers,
Hospital rooms and bathroom stalls saving you from dangers,

Gripping writing tools like vices for the future,
Avoiding full eye contact and solidifying closure,
Running up ramp ways and giggling like it’s pleasantry,
Bells ringing like Notre Dame ignoring all the travesty,

Succulent candy and saccharin smirks,
German accents and flirting with the jerks,
Footsteps trumpeting past maps and history,
Sending out postcards about our exquisite debauchery:

It all seems for nothing, it all seems for naught
This is the paradise that Time forgot

Sandra Reynolds

Sandra Reynolds

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Sandra earned her B.A. in English. She works part-time as a freelance writer and proofreader. Sandra was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in NYC with her fiance and their adorable pug.
Sandra Reynolds