Starless nights and narrow paths
rule this life.
Two decades ago felt so long
yet so sought.
Numbing herself through the day which
she used to celebrate.

Is it the gaping hole of a chest?
Is it the pre-recorded track of existence?

Has life always been losing its light
when they drag her to try
to play the game where she stumbles and falls
but still gets up and still remains off?

Maybe after pricking herself, she stopped
and now lives in sleep-walk
keeping on the same face
while ten feet from the grave.

There's only the doubt
that she can't get out.