Her love and her suffering are conjoined,

sharing a heart and a stomach,

breathing the same air

— the violent, terminal air;

she has too many second opinions

for any robust optative; no more shall she,

sighing, splash in speculations of surgical separation.

Covenanted to one, ground up by the teeth of the other,

wearily waiting wastefully (without wisdom),

fueled by fool’s-hope,

her footsteps dirges,

she journeys towards two different funerals,

towards a cold, but colorful, freedom.