When she fell, she fell apart.

Cracked her bones on the pavement she once decorated

as a child with sidewalk chalk.

When she crashed, her clothes disintegrated and blew away

with the winds that took all of her fair-weather friends.

When she looked around, her skin was spattered with ink

forming the words of a thousand voices

Echoes she heard even in her sleep:

"Whatever you say, it is not right."

"Whatever you do, it is not enough."

"Your kindness is fake."

"Your pain is manipulative."

When she lay there on the ground,

She dreamed of time machines and revenge

and a love that was really something,

Not just the idea of something.