She hides stuff
Then she forgets
The hideaways

She has two voices in her head
A circumstantial one
Repetitive, neurotic kind
An unobtrusive one
Concealed, hidden, deep down
That she never shares

She’s a routine queen
She loves routine
She knows it but
She hides it
Then she forgets
The hideaways

She was hurt
From the beginning
To it’s deploying

She feels herself being
As long as she’s in the woods, in the winds
Take my body to the Alps
She asked: Once I'm dead
And run the hills
I said I would

She’s been expecting something
Something she couldn’t name
From the beginning
To it’s deploying

No land, her feet burns
There’s a child inside her
With no mum
She afraid when she must
Think with her body
Afraid when she drives

She’s not the dominating type