A gust of wind, shutters tearing at the window sill;
Her gaze unshaken, she awaits something.
The world spins, its exoteric shell a miasma of undoing;
Her leering eyes remain, she is a statue.
Beep.
Men come and go, their eyes twinkling with unmade promises;
Her ears hear not the faintest whisper.
The door opens, closes, falls off, perishes in a swarm of putrescence;
Her woes match the unmistakable pungency.
Beep.
Struggling azaleas fight for life among the weeds;
Her struggle has become an addiction.
The world stops, breathes a breath for her, moves on;
Her spotlight fading, she breaks a final vow.
Beep.

Beep.

Beep.