What will become of her?

She held her breath
as ever before,
the air fixed on praying.

The wilderness
of kin, it poured
a strangeness taking

the words attempt
to leave through the sore,
soaring and shaking.

And now, unsure
if ever before,
the words stop reaching.

A kindness of
few, many and more:
farewell to the dreaming.

One way to stop
your sleeping is to
never, ever close your eyes.

But one way to
stop this feeling is
to never feel alive.

“Let’s sing,” she yells
on deaf ears, of course,
“what I have learned to feel:

“Your kind of pain
has always numbed me-
Does this haze count as steel?

“For I am free
and of the living,
but I cannot see clear.

“I am scared
and of the fleeing,
but I’ve been living here.”

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