Miss Marie

She walked with the world in her footsteps and sang anthems in the
shower. There was always a red scarf on her dresser for when the dragons
scorched her throat, even when she didn't always have a coat on her
back. That girl had love chartering ships like the titanic from every
corner of the earth, but she preferred life in a more pixelized form.
This space was her space, not that she noticed. Naked in winter snow,
she clawed at the stars because if she could see something above her, it
meant she still had blood to paint with and something to lose. Late at
night the wind reminds me that she's gone. It is at those moments that I
want to paint with her.