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skonen_bladesShe’s drenched in the blood of the hearts that came before his. She has rolled in the black ink of poetry written for her. Declarations of passion hang around her in the very air. She collects them as camouflage and as she leaves, she wears them out.
Her head’s on fire. She’s inside herself with anger. Things come crashing down on her but miss. She’s absent when disaster finds its mark. Arrows thud and quiver into the wall where she was standing just seconds ago. She’s a blind athlete sprinting, a speedster trailing cartoon symbols of love, death, warning labels and forgotten safe-words behind her.
She’s published cookbooks of memories. She’s painted invisible self-portraits.
For her, life’s an eighty-story building and she’s falling past floor after floor, snapping through the spider webs on the way down.
He leans out a window as she goes past.
“You’re an angel” he says.
“Angels have wings” she says, and keeps falling.
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Her head’s on fire. She’s inside herself with anger. Things come crashing down on her but miss. She’s absent when disaster finds its mark. Arrows thud and quiver into the wall where she was standing just seconds ago. She’s a blind athlete sprinting, a speedster trailing cartoon symbols of love, death, warning labels and forgotten safe-words behind her.
She’s published cookbooks of memories. She’s painted invisible self-portraits.
For her, life’s an eighty-story building and she’s falling past floor after floor, snapping through the spider webs on the way down.
He leans out a window as she goes past.
“You’re an angel” he says.
“Angels have wings” she says, and keeps falling.
tags