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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required She was grace in its purest form. Thinking not and caring not of her destination, she soars across the angelic sky on her tiny golden wings. Yet her feet never left the cold laminated floor. Any spectator would have mistaken her for a seraph the way she glowed in soft hues of purple and gold but she lost herself somewhere along the way, a faceless body seeking meaning in a meaningless world. The sanctuary of her bedroom window shrinks behind her silhouette, leaving her hanging in the nothingness that is her unsettled mind. She looked down to see the world disappear below and felt the cold of the darkness creeping up her spine and chilling her empty heart. Her dingy gown of solitude flaps violently against her broken joints, lacerating her skin, exposing a starry void nestled under the layers of flesh that kept her essence from scattering across the cosmos. Faces fade in and out of her journeys uncharted path. Running through her unconsciousness as a river flows and churns through the darkest forest in the deepest corners of unexplored worlds, never to be seen or heard by a living soul until they scream out in hopelessness, craving a connection with humanity. These undisguised faces frequently accompany her while she floats into her own personal abyss. Their presence at incalculable altitudes cause her to question how high her feathered appendages will carry her. She would welcome a fall from grace, anything to let her know she is still alive. She hears the voices as they whisper in her ears, telling her she is not alone on her voyage into the unknown. Assuring her that soon she will be able to come home to the place where she belongs. Declaring that upon the return of her fleeting health, she can get back to the normalcy of her uneventful mundane existence. The life she held so near and dear out of fear of failure more than the shear love of just being. The crux that was venom on her lips and toxin in her blood. But her heart has a memory telling her that home holds no promise of security and love, at least not anymore. She returns weary from her flight to find unwanted intrusions in her padded prison. A soft cry escapes her lips as her wings dissolve and her chance to flee has vanished. Reality sets in and she realizes she no longer resides in the safety of her own mind. She tries to fight against her restrains, struggling for the freedom she posses only in disembodiment. Familiar metal bites into her ankles and wrists, purpling her scarred paper skin. Sharp pains spread from the injection site, adding another piercing to the tracks that up and down her limbs. She listens to the hum of the fluoresce lights as they double in her medicated vision trying to escape from the corpse that once housed her soul. Her eyes dim, a solitary tear slides down her hollowed cheek and she slips back into her only refuge, her beautiful delusion. This is copyrighted material. All rights are reserved. Reprints must be requested in writing to the original author. © Alisha Groves
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