She scratches down the blinds.
The sachet of dependable lies
She empties, to refuse
The only thing she can seek that's left to her.
She screams until no one
Can calm her down
And stops
At the frigid center
Where no falling, no imbalance
Would contain her in someone else's hand,
Where pure calm answers her —
A dispassion she wishes to share.
This certainty will end
With her awake on her bed
Before they've had a chance to take it.
