Look at her over there,
standing so low underneath solemn light
caressing her spine peaking out.
Is that a tear I see?
I think it splashed the concrete
awakening the vast tunnel behind her.
Her profile is so depressing;
she is a motionless noodle
slinking below the ground.
What is she doing on the floor?
She must enjoy cuddling with dirt,
twirling her fingers with a close friend.
Her dress is all messy,
the white is blurring to black
erasing innocence within the stitches.
Where did she go?
Whispering 'hello' to the tunnel,
the echo answers the child.
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