Where She Was

Is this where she was,

or a mile deeper, where the earth swallows names?

Did she whisper to the gas pump,

fill me up, baby, take me far—

but not too far.

Not past the edge where breath forgets lungs,

where bones bleach clean beneath a sun that doesn’t care.

-

Did she leave her phone behind—

of course she did.

No breadcrumbs. No signals.

Just the hum of an engine purring under her ribs,

a hunger she mistook for direction.

No more dough.

No more food.

No more need.

-

Naked as the night itself,

bare-assed under the alien glow of halogen prophecy,

did she see the lights calling her home?

-

But which home?

The bad one in the badlands,

the one that grins with too many teeth?

Or the other—

the one with no walls, no roads,

just the void, deep and open,

licking its lips?

-

Did she drive into it—

a full tank’s worth of wanting?

And when the fuel ran out,

did she crawl from the car,

knees scraping the hardpack,

hands trembling, shedding skin like old regret,

stripping herself down to bone and breath,

letting the dirt take her,

letting the stars eat her whole?

-

But tell me—

is this where she was

when she made her choice?

.