Nocturnal spirits ablaze with the
Mark of the weary. Encased souls,
Comforted by the sounds of her exhales
She reaches for oblivion with outstretched arms

Her minor catastrophes delineate the obvious
But what of love?
Its cold and calculated lies have no place in the night
She thinks

The sparks of the firefly, dance in the firmaments
Ripples of thought plunder the silence of the darkness
She wants to jump in the abyss
A baptism of fire