She stumbles through the
night drenched streets, coughing,
spluttering, retching and completely
alone. Her bile stained lips
utter gently manic lullabies
to the rabbits running frantically
across the car park, through the
fence and under the rusted train tracks.
Putrid bitter yellow, she spits death
onto the cold pavement, wandering
aimlessly home in a direction taking
her far from it. She stares at the
cold, artificial orange lamplight. Fake.
She scowls. How dare you? How dare you
try to mimic the sun? Let me have my
darkness. I am nocturnal on Thursday's.