Turn It Up.

the puddles of main street.
gray patches of precipitation splattered on the dull excuse for a road.
the pathway to a different dimension.
drifting towards the sidewalk on which she walked.

her pink boots bright.
umbrella raised high.
shock of blonde hair straightened to her elbows.
her eyes a pair of stars.

speakers pushed into her ears.
with each footstep the music seemed to grow louder.
and she began to sing,
with that soft, sweet, sickly voice.

"You don't say anything,"
she plodded merrily along the street.
a man passed by her.
the stench of urine wafted into her nostrils.

"You're talking but you don't say anything."
some mud splashed against her boots.
the umbrella being pelted constantly.
busy stores, empty minds.

"You don't do anything,"
she giggled to herself.
people stared as she ducked behind a parked taxi.
her head facing the ground, strands of hair touching the wet surface.

"You're moving but you don't do anything!"
she screamed.
her umbrella would hit the truck first.
and her body would follow.

so turn it up.