She crawls upon her hands, and knees,

Words scattered in this place she cannot find;

Until her hands give out,

And her face is pressed against the floor.

She has learned from young

To offer more than she has ever held,

And somehow,

This floor is all she has left,

Shiny with the entrails she vomited in offering,

When she learnt:

Her heart,

Her soul,

Her breaths,

Her thoughts,

Were still…

Not enough.

K.N.O.W.

Thursday, July 23, 2015. 18:20 hrs