It has been another night in the corner
watching upon a distant crowd inches away
deafened by the constant din of the darkness.
She cannot recall the stroll in the mist
against the blinding eyes of steel monsters
as again she sits alone nursing her priceless poison.
Dressed with the patches of her private treasures
she seems a stranger in a smoky cloud
surrounded by the thunderous clamors of the mob.
Statuesque in the pose of a scared child
a halo shapes her uncertain presence
she stares in search of another world.
She is the void left after the ghost has vanished
frigid within the fiery smog that was once her
everything which defines the essence of others.
– Fabrice B. Poussin