Another Poem About An Inconsequential Girl.... Poem by Brevet Wilson

She lives in the spaces in between the spaces.
She looks perpetually and terminally bored...
as if she will die at any moment from the banality.
The lost Gashlycrumb Tiny.
She crawls and slides,
between the cracks of,
well,
all the cracks she can find.
She lives between the lines
but she can't read there.
When she yawns it always means something.

She fakes it when she cries.
She fakes it in bed,
but she never fakes it when she cries in bed.

She carries an antique gun in case the Devil catches up to her.

She also carries a walking stick,
with a sword,
and a flask full of Jameson,
and a compass,
so she can almost always find her way back.
so she can find herself another space in between.

- 30-