Loose notes. She lost her voice. Repeated words, undressed in rhythmic syllables, while she: she hung onto heartbeats. She hung onto sound. Lost in her voice. A kiss deserted in her skin. A phase dug from her wounds. Hoped to be temporary. Forgotten into a memory. A moment that loses control, while she: she hung onto those repeats. Haunts in her mind. Lost, from behind, while I fall with her debris. Her words coming from apocalyptic language. Her eyes that never see. Her words that are never heard. While shadows come over, can she breathe? Can she, while we both hold on, to believe? To believe in another entry. Another escape from fatality. Another breath that keeps us rowing, while she has no sails. No quilts, nor pages, nor shredded flesh made for movement. She has entered gusts. She has entered storms. She heaves, as she breathes, with everything to leave. She leaves who she deceives, standing in stardom and grief. Famous in her stillness. Captured for this lifeless world. Art for another decade. For art, where all things eventually fade.