her mother is much like an aeroplane,
she is elegant, fast, and always distant,
always far from her pain,
her wings seem so strong when they're spread out and white and glimmerings and elegant,
but they're always shaking,
threatening to snap like a twig,
at a moment's notice,
tearing apart into shreds,
falling to the ground like a wreck,
her mummy needs her fuel to sustain her,
Jack Daniel's, Hennessy, Absolute,
burning through it,
burning through her,
peeling always the aluminium with her fangs,
a wreck,
a crash,
the engine's out of order,
it's a mutiny of sorts,
outside the chilly stratosphere,
inside it's colder,
inside it's always fear.
YOU ARE READING
n.i.m.b.u.s.
Poetrywords that pour from the veins of the sky. a collection of joyous, soul-crushing melodies, set to the tune of the desert-seaside breeze. //#539 in Poetry [2016.07.10]
