Her heart pumped so loud and brutally in her chest that
all neighbors dreamed in its rhythm.
Letting go of their memories in the womb forced a new moon.
Songs of insomnia.
The one’s who rose from their beds turning on the lights posed as her gods, owners of the truth.
*Her pace grew quicker and she lost her way. Like roots that rise to the sun, her sprouts wilted.
*Those bright lit squares above her gifted her an audience she became foreign and depend her quest this late hour.