Soreness reaches into the depths of her bones
Little droplets fall from the clouds to the top of her cheeks
It comes down slowly then faster and faster like an uncontrolled burn
Her insides ache for an oasis
like a dancer grasping any big break,
like flames inhaling any last oxygen,
like a blind man feeling his surroundings.
No one looks behind the curtains on the windows,
No one tries to unlatch the lock to open it up…
It makes her wonder, question, frightened.
As a prohibitionist in the midst of the young--
--resentment rises and crushes--
She hopes to lift the iron cage’s shadow within
But nothing works and she feels lost and uncontrolled bounded in a storm
Who is she now?
Where does she go?
Why did she have to hurt…?
The phoenix drowns in this story.