She creates silhouettes in darkness
and dances amongst the dead pines.
She isn't afraid of what happens after you die
because no one is scared of nothing.
Sometimes, she stares up at the sky
and watches the clouds drift overhead,
noting down the shapes she sees.
She is particularly proud of the one
that had a striking resemblance to China,
not that she knows what China really looks like.
It's sort of round, she said to herself.

She passes time with childhood ghosts,
all the screaming and beating and abuse.
She never really got over it all
but she still sees the world in a pinkish hue.
There are golds in there too,
but they line the edges of the blacks and greys.
Sometimes, she cries at night
when the clouds obscure her stars,
especially the ones that leave
scars that heal over in seconds.
I wish mine could, she said to herself.

She topples over on an ocean
only she allows herself to see.
No one else can sail her waters.
She hopes a safe harbour will appear on the horizon,
or distant smoke among the grey of the clouds,
and maybe she will see eventually,
a forest among the trees.
But those trees are long dead now,
sharp, brittle fingersticks scratching
the still of the sky.
A bird calls her name from the welkin
and lands on her cold shoulder,
chirping a sad song.
Sing for me, she said to herself.

She makes angels in the snow
and slices a halo above her head.
She clutches tenderly at her heart
and feels the steadfast beating
against her broken ribcage.
A cage without a bird
is like a heart without a love,
empty and cold and lonely.
She still finds time to smile through the sorrow,
to persevere in adversity,
a bitterness soothed by the call of a bittern.
The shadows still dance across her walls
but they have fallen silent now,
like winter snow on a child's grave.
Half her name on the stone.
I love you, she said to herself.
i really like the way parts of this kind of rhyme, but not quite. it's got a rhythm to it. and it's got a humanity to it; whoever 'she' is, she seems real.

one thing, though, the line
and watches the clouds drift overhead,
is bad. everyone has written it before. i know you can say it better, more originally.
kill all humans
Like a fine wine.

Edit: Mike just read your other piece on the previous page '...Exquise', didn't want to bump. Top drawer. You curse like a pro.
Last edited by Jammydude44 at Jul 15, 2015,