Inside I'm free. no need to breathe. the knife cuts a careful arch. intent to leave it's mark. and through it, i see. Around and around the bend. this circle remains an end.
Beyond the back row off the beat and path. step into a field of dying blades of grass. so thick I have to use my hands. and slowly sinking in quicksand.
She walks with a sadness like she's never known. exiting from the back in black from head to toe. a swallow of stale station air. leaving behind the taste of despair.