She lives in her head such a crowded place on the edge of reason, a rose shaped hole in her heart. She walks through a haze, talking to the moon. Miniscule mustard seed in her pocket, dreams of her feet lost in a sea of people, voice too small among the din and maelstrom of emotions. She swims in her tears. She lives in her head, such a crowded place.

Check out the replies and reactions on Beams.fm