Emily Dickinson

She was no longer a user

Don't think she realised we knew that

Not one to make a fuss

Why this and not something else

Wasn't it obvious?

She made such a hash of it

You can't help but notice

A near absence of tenderness

And who wants to live like that?

And friends turn their backs on her

She, no longer a user

And she wanted to stay home

With a box full of postcards

And no place to send them

Live like Emily Dickinson

Without so much as a kiss

Or the comfort of strangers

Withdrawing into herself

But why this

And not something else?