There is meaning. it slips, behind chattering teeth, under my tongue.
Lurks just beyond the periphery of the mind's eye. Taunting, shy, mocking with silence.
It stalls, like the tug from the hand of a spoiled child. Not something to be left, light enough to drag, but too fragile. If pushed far or hard, it will pack up, secretly, safely, darkly, and will be off.
Like she dreamt of the circus.
Living like a lover. Always clinging to the back of the skull, a vampire.
With teeth and the scraping, she tumbles at tantrums,
wishing reality finding her true, discernible.