& perhaps
the tragedy of it all
was that reality
never seemed to be a
bother
compared to her sense of
pareidolia

if at any moment she caught
a scent of any
deeper meaning
she took to the tips of her
toes
& stalked it





until the
silence
became too great

to bear as
tried and true
fate


then down came her shoulders

down came the flood gates

fueling the catacombs
of her
nerve-endings
with any drug that was
welcoming

sleepy days
& lucid nights

misplaced whispers
& constant fright



"something must have remained"

she'll tell herself
on the seldom, solemn
cigarette days





"some piece must have stayed"