you don’t see it happen; they float up
and you are unable to cut enough string to pull them back down
until you do not see them anymore: a cry in the wind becomes
a howl of night that the ocean pours into your ears repeatedly
the strawberries that gathered on her lips that were just flavored blueberry
the glow of the psychotic crescent in her iris; which was just ghostly chaotic
afraid to perish by the bumps of ditches; yet not by her own seatbelt
no snake of chains wrapped around her waist: why did she feel it slither
a silent bullet that pierced her bow of nothingness; she fled
so far that the trigger made no effort to ring once more
the sewers should’ve noticed: should’ve gave her a chance to-
one was always at their burial; in their casket
she looked at hers fondly as one felt when escaping a maze
watched the onlookers as one smelled the smoke of cigarettes
their attention: lacking eyes that gazed at her but saw no cactus of turmoil
they should’ve – and now they wouldn’t ever