Issue 27 • October 2019
Art & Lit
She fell. She couldn’t get up.
Lilian Ho, St. Mark's
She couldn’t get up.
The ground became her sea.
Her arms became her wings.
She flew in the vastness of blue,
in her reality so untrue.
She bathed in the blood that it drew.
Pawns were the passersby in her show.
Ambition in her eyes, gleaming in day, glowing at night,
but she no longer knows
the cold of the concrete, the cool of the air.
She left, long ago, her despair
For a dream, she was lucid yet so delusional…
…what is this sensation?
One in which she was once familiar;
she had forgotten the numbness: