In a city of neon,
with broken hearts and colder tongues,
she walks alone with poison dreams
curled quiet in her lungs.
The night inhales her shadow
and coughs her name in smoke,
a prayer lost to sirens,
a memory she never spoke.
Each breath, a little dagger,
each step, a thread unwound—
she’s stitched from fallen starlight
and silence she never found.
So she whispers to the darkness,
not hopin...