she kissed the sun-banked sky as she sang to a new world of nothing
on a cliff above the clouds- clinging to catastrophe.
it can't break her fall.

not this time.

-
she's an artist.
painting her fractures/ empty silhouettes with simple contradictions
an entity in ambiguity. and I watched her fall
drifting among what once was lost- it never matters
and she couldn't care less.

while I couldn't care more

the dirt on her wings from the days of sitting idle-
urged to fly- the blue above and the black below/ she wasn't ready
noone is ever ready for the descent.
and the ground is ever so unforgiving.


and we watched the cars collide- as the night stretched on
with my hands around her throat. and her knife to my temple.
and it never amounted to anything.
and nothing ever meant a thing- as she broke my heart with goodbye
and stole the silence. ripped the violence.
from my eyes.

and she cried.

[she's an artist]
painting murals and landscapes- with her ice tipped wings
for when she drifts too close to the sun.

waiting to catch a glimpse- piece together a promise.
and break her neck.
with the ground closing in.
she wasn't ready.

and her eyes met mine. for a second the world made sense.
then I blinked. and it was gone.

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