27/104: A dedication of sorts

Sometimes a girl might get lonely.
That girl, well, her bones just might break
because of grief;
brittle little sad bones
white with surrender.

Her nose might bleed.
The pain and the war,
it just gets to be too much.
And then, naturally,
there becomes no love left.

Harpsichords eat up the background
while the girl becomes magnolias.
No one listens.