She stares at the wall and she curses it all when all is said and done.
But at night she’s thrown, by the brink of her bones like glass into the silent sky.
So she’s suddenly lost in nothing but rain with a glimpse of Sanity Hill.
There’s nothing to lose, but mirrors to gain in pursuit of cloudless dreams.
And when she wakes she frantically shakes but always takes her time—
she sits and sifts by burying her misfits beneath the fluff of steel pillows.
She stares at her chapbooks from Poe and Sylvia plathed upon her cedar shelf. She puckers and sighs at "the end of the world" but remains afraid of herself.