The window stopped being see-thru

 when she closed her doors and her aching bones became the doorstop.

The battered ballerina wept with stolen soulful blinded eyes,

stuck in a faceless insanity spin

she searched for salvation

 off this merry-go-round’s masquerade of madness.

But like flat black oil spills a garages secret spread

of pretty carpark pick-up’s

& mistimed car trunk trash reveals

about a garage worthy calendar pinup.

Her words of warning fade upon its walls

of another traveller trapped by a lover’s betrayal

where she ended up as another chapter in this gas station’s tale.