death sentence on a line

                     holding your breath to nine

                   a flame once burning bright



              fingertips apart, into the ashes i die

and for so long I hid

                      my fingertips

                 stained by the ashes


           you hold them with yours, anyway.

the adrenaline hisses
like a candle blown
the cheers
the smiles
all fleeting

        and i am endeared no longer

I know of a small town girl with dreams of
red carpets and theater hits, maybe
shelves out of stock from bottom to top
or halls with framed portraits of the sea—
the crowds drowning, washed away
to worlds that words can not portray

A shame, she grew, this brilliant girl
stuck between youthful dreams,
and the violent whirl
of what to do and where to pluck
the food to fill her empty gut