Within her and the quickening of red,
Frantically looking about the landscape.
Against the nearest wall, she beats her head.
What is she searching for? Is it escape?
She doesn’t know, with her memory grown,
So dark and into the mist, and faded,
She wonders if her sanity has flown.
To what cold cage was her freedom traded?
She is running again, always running.
Wanting to look back, but not knowing why.
Onward and running, trusting her cunning,
Never being able to stop, she cries.
So frantic and running and cold and cracked,
Running and running, no time to look back.
Beasts of Articulation 