The words
The petals
On a flower that
Thrives by appearance
Is only
Will merely
Be a flimsy
Taste of what's inside
Why price
By the eyes
The symmetry
Of flawed beauty
As though
As most
Are weighed by
Thoughtless ideals
For those
Four arrows
A sma...
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ink glides over the water, so gracefully like calligraphy written by night herself. but it is I whose shadows now skim the lake's surface. slowly, steadily, my shadows ripple and fade, and so I fall.
my eyes are crystal balls; stare into then and I can tell you about the journey that lies ahead in anyone's path but my own. my tears collect at the edge of the horizon, swelling until it crystallizes into a glass jar full of air and white noise. the sides are imperfect, jagged. I can't see outside.
later by layer I peel away the walls. sometimes, 2 or 3 or 4 more hands help me dig under my skin and into my heart. who am I? whose persona should I inherit from the premade containers?
the rook?
the abandoned?
the miracle but forgotten?
or should I take the path less taken yet peered down the most? where have my shadows gone, have they left to write an epic of a better person? howl like a wolf, I tell myself, and listen to your voice echo in silence.
I walk to the edge of the world, searching for a light that'll never shine until I do. in slow motion, fat raindrops splash on my skin. my makeup washes away into a pool of rainbow at my feet.
I've never felt so exposed. vulnerable. Open like the blank pages of a journal.
is this what I've been searching for? I don't feel awed, nor enlightened the way I was when I discovered how to fly while falling. but somewhere a voice flickers to life, and though I've not heard it before I weep with familiarity and heartache.
I've reached this place at last.
I realized too late that I haven't name-dropped anyone other than Ruk some time ago, and this collection is getting near its end. Hm, I'll have to do that. Or call them by other names...you know, so it's not so obvious...
