forcing herself into the black night air
walking the same streets
like so many times before
through the thick layer of exhaust, and exhaustion
the moon seems to lose its holy glow
it hangs there in melancholy-
so dim and dull
orange streetlamps artificially light the way
along the overused Boulevard
flooded by plastic figurines-
moving but un-alive
she looks to the solitary trees
for a welcomed sign of life.
