Cleo's mother died last night. She took control too much. And Cleo doesn't even know who she's angry with anymore.

She thinks;
I am jealous you escaped
I am terrfied
I am alone
I am free
She thinks, I crave to have my mother back, my mother who was never really there at all.

There are a million ways to destroy yourself, you can burn or drown or cut or hang, you can implode, ingest, give up, throw up, jump from, bury, rip, or you can simply disappear.
If you vulture-yourself, how long before you're eaten up?

There's a new man now, he must love her, he must fancy her, he must want to screw her. He spoke and looked and gave her a present. Sweat beaded on his temples.
And Cleo was so wrong and sick and broken, but he didn't seem to care.

Cleo wants a boat to sail away, or wings to fly across the sky, or a fast car to drive into the ground. She is going, going, gone.