You are precious.
You are beauty,
in the purest form.
Your heart skips no beat,
for a ballerina is rhythm.
She holds a head high,
and maybe it is all she has left,
because it is not her own.
You mustn't save them.
You mustn't save her.
For the possiblity,
in all the cruelty and confusion,
you are only able to keep youreself..
from slipping away.
One hand gripped.
Five fingers.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Shot down to one.
And you have vanished.