She was built on shattered dreams,
promises frayed at the seams,
wishing wells where hope waits at the bottom,
until the end of a golden summer greets autumn.

She never wanted the weight
of a thousand knives like freight,
all twisting flesh on her back,
circling around a single track.

Still, she runs her fingers along the rips,
collecting light on her fingertips—
a glow in darkness she will bear,
not to be consumed, but always there.