Madeline C.

Drifting

weightless

at the depths

of a lake,

slithering reeds

caress

my

back.

I had

pushed

scraped

and clawed,

but the ice

above

my head

refuses

to give way.

I can’t

feel

my fingers.

My screeching

lung’s

ache.

Now they’re

going

numb.

My time

is tripping

to an

end.

Yet,

I never have

felt so

alive.

My vision

blurs

gently.

Thawing over

like the ice

paintings

on a morning window.

I feel

so very

tired.

What a delicious

experience…..

The ability to

skip along

a fine line

of

life.

Am I….?

Yes.

I

lived.

Lovely crimson

flowers

spill

across a white

canvas.

Much cleaner than

blood.

But it lacks the

authenticity.

It’s smell as it

coagulates.

It’s warmth as it dribbles from a wound.

Lovely in it’s own right.

But less painful, are the soft petal’s hue.

Perhaps the flower’s importance

is lacking

because the petals don’t pulse

with the pain

that reminds us of

our own

existence.

Living in a world that’s black and blue,

I can’t help but

question.

Am I drowning?

I shouldn’t be breathing.

Silvery bubbles float into the inky sky.

Did I create them?

Not a soul moves

with urgency it seems

in this languid

terrene.

Buildings

lining walkways

are shadowed

with drowsy

indigo,

and my

hands float

deathly pale.

Spinning through the streets,

I examine blank faces as they

pass me

by.

Without emotion,

they march.

I can’t help but feel happy.

Have I gone mad?

Even so, all of their cold faces

Loom beautifully in this

Preferable world.

Meandering, dancing amongst them,

Eager to break them, I accept the challenge.

Bouncing towards my victim, I plot.

Reveling in the blank gaze, I prepare.

Entertainment may not have left me quite yet.

Aligning with empty eyes I

Try to smile.

Hapless ice still stares back.

Envelope the soul in a hug,

and maybe

it will crack.

Surprise chips away the ice.

My chest tightens.

Oh.

I need to breathe.

A pinch of panic

spikes my pulse.

What was it?

I focus on mending my confident expression.

It must be flawless.

They mustn’t know that I

can’t find it.

Swimming through my

sticky conscious,

I yank out the black goo that clogs

my thoughts.

Keep even breaths

and pulse.

I forbid my blood vessels to expand.

One..

Two..

Three..

Speak.

Stall.

They’re all here to see me trip.

I won’t provide the show.

To be a droplet

of water,

traveling

the world and

heavens,

would it be worthwhile?

Splitting into a

myriad of

tiny

molecules,

and living

a never ending life.

Becoming diluted

and purified,

would I

prefer to entertain

myself with

human trials,

or trickle indifferently?

How would it feel,

to tumble slowly down

the edge of an

umbrella?

Would I be

the final

touch to

someone’s ruined

day

or the telltale droplet

to save a

life?

Fold,

Crease, spin

One

Beautiful crepe purples

seep a

tranquil

sadness.

Ocean blues

poke and push

patient

pain and peaceful

paper.

Charcoal black

stains

life

with bittersweet

dark

streaks.

Two

Pin.

Flip.

Pinch.

A wing.

Three

String

memories

of joy

together.

A Thousand

Paper

Cranes.

In her hands she held a glass orb, complex patterns bringing great beauty to it’s pearly surface. Cradling the sphere and rolling it gently in her palm, she gazed, transfixed, at the rolling waves of blue, the white nimbus dotting them, and the serene patches of green stitched gorgeously amongst the colors. The girl stretched it out infront of her, comparing it to the starlit realm she roamed. The orb lifted itself from her palm, floating drowsily from her, and proceeded to fling itself away from the being. Her nimble fingers slipped and scrambled after the lively wonder as it sped toward the midnight ground. Crashing to the floor, the girl tried to pick up the shattered glass, the pieces scraping and cutting her fragile skin. The magnificent blue she had beheld with such awe lay sprawled in a sorrowful heap. The nimbus clouds that had accented them split and broken. But the most heartbreaking of all was the green land that had graced the glass’s features so gently. Sweeping up the shards, she funneled them into her pocket with great care. This had been her 1596306781 try. She would just have to start again.