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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 5/28/2018 What am I doing in a place like this? So distant yet right at my fingertips…only a few know it exists. A coat of Pacific blue chipping off into an opaque faded shade of grey—stony tone—of an unmarked grave. Blanket of night, sky of ebony clay, never again will these chestnut eyes see the light of day. Building ladders, each time adding a few feet. Extending my arms to lift the darkness that never will I reach. The heart, once a vital organ, dried out like a raisin. Stiffly standing upright, a statue somewhere in the streets. Never to be found and revived. My bare body shed its skin to bone. To a skeletal reflection I see in these crimson puddles on concrete. Rotting carcass of a joyful woman I must step over to get to the view of those in the place I once belonged to. A quickly timed glimpse before I’m forced to return. Until the night her rotting remains enflamed. I watched the projector slowly begin to burn. All that’s left are ashes that blow away with an artic breeze. What would it matter when soon I could no longer see? Sidewalks melted concrete to tar streets. Disintegrated into unstable piles of rocks. No more grass, trees, flowers, and crops. Brick buildings demolished along with glass towers smashed. God was dead. Animals already fled while I remained on the edge. The people warned me as my eardrums bled. Lips parted but I could no longer speak. Faces faded from my memory. I cannot remember or even dream. But to you, I stare blankly in this black leather seat. Surrounded by them, who are different versions of me. They wonder why I’m here because “the girl never speaks.”
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