she is a dying storm. her time is up, she’s riled enough people to keep her history alive. her flame is out. the hollow in her voice is a virus waiting to spread. her cracked head is leaking out secrets. baptize her in ignorance and marry her to death. anoint her burdened head with honey and milk. drown her in the acid of her own lies. watch her wriggle out of her body, soul intact. bathe her in new waters, wash away every flicker of memory she holds to herself. punch holes in her. let her breathe through them. punch holes in her. let her learn to endure luster and not just enjoy it. paint wings on her and whisper to her the secrets of flight. point to the skies above. tell her they’ve been waiting for her. tell her she’s the universe’s latest baby and it needs her back. show her how dark the night is and tell her why. tell her her sins have earned her respect. push her off the edge and ask her to fly. watch her fail and pretend to cry.