who mr. owl? who?

This is her style

Leaving at 1am on her high

She can't deny her time

To be free of the world at nigh

This is her kind

Lip-syncing the boisterous chimes

Of her travels left behind

Speckled in rust overtime

This is her price

Blistering palms by waking cries

Slick memories never holding tight

All because it's denied;

Hidden from who she hides -

Me.