here she is
running on hard-boiled
fear
coupled with passive
adrenaline
bubbling underneath the
surface

they're playing the
final round
& he hasn't got a
clue
for the moment when she
very well should have
erupted
in a fit of fed up
pent up anguish
she kept quiet
as the dead
& began to plot
the great
escape

she put herself on
the high wire
with nothing but the
clothes on her back
a fifth of tequila at her hip
& a knife in her teeth

"we're gonna make it
out of this hell
one way
or
another"
she said as she was
more than 500 feet
from jagged
glass encrusted death
in a river of
uncertainty
& last minute decisions
that all seem to
revolve
around the full
acknowledgment of
the fact
that's he's a no good
two-timing
holier-than-thou ****



dear jesus



I hope it isn't windy
tomorrow