Briefly, for a bit, she was a dead girl
with the flower mind.
A segment,
a splintering fraction
of luminous pondering
that glinted and flamed
in a spangle through her. It takes pieces of her, backsliding into her brash sensations, making her question why the vibrations around her have the ability to slice through her head so cleanly.

We're just hearts cracked open trying to find the thing that makes us want to consume air into our lungs.