| Descending the stairs, Running and expressing her grief and Reaching the road. She can smell the tarmac melting, She can see the smoke rising Like a thousand exhaled drags of a cigarette. The hot air makes her clothes Stick to her skin. And she, Walks with matted hair And sweat begins to pour From the back of her neck falling, Along her spine. Her ankles give way, She hits the floor, with the Plummeting sound of raw flesh On tarmac. Until she looks up. Ascending the stairs, in the Night air, she knows She’s all she’s got And she’s got to hold on. |