We're trying.

To make due with the rubble that was left behind.

"What if I can't handle it?" she says as she stares watery-eyed at herself in the mirror.

The scissors have snipped away the cords

And we puppeteer each other no more.

Can you hear me from where you are?

I tell you something, it's dusty in your head.

We're strangers to the sun

You're not thinking straight.

The clicking from the key coils like a vacuum that shuffles on

and shoots a vine from the trees.

It tangles us. Strangles us. We're not Angels anymore.

Down.