She breathes in galaxies,
Skyscrapers,
Smoke.
One hit,
And bloody roots
Plant themselves in her eyes.
The right side of her brain swells,
She is …
She is …
She is …

She was something.
She was born into the
Barrel of a gun
Stained with Daddy’s whiskey.
She still played,
And prayed
That the poison in Daddy
Wouldn’t run in her veins.

But she is nothing.
In all honesty the sky
Is devoured by space after
Everyday.
The bottle on the counter
Has been shattered from the waist
Up.
She’s just an image of her father
In the reflection of the family tree,
Whose roots were burned
Before they could grow.

She dreams.
In those dreams there’s no poison.
There’s only nothing.
Just like her,
Nothing.

She is …
Forgettable.