She spends her money on
pocket watches and parachutes,
waiting for that one defining moment to open its mouth.

She would jump, her eyes
watering and her head spinning from the height.

No one would see her—‘Cause no one ever looks up.

And from up here she can see the city driving by.
Fingernails brittle, she scrapes her way. Digging her mark on society
with a bitten off spoon and
a pair of tweezers.

From her perch, she spreads
her pulpy limbs wide-
And the only thing she can do is breath—
‘Cause the air is fresh up here.

She spends her money on milk and a plane ticket to Miami
Reserved two by the window—‘Cause she hates traveling alone.