Among high cliffs you cater to your soul.
You walk among verdant hills, majestically elevated above the seafloor with sharp cross-section cutouts down into deep murky blue depths.
The wind wraps around your body like a polymer surgeon’s glove.
It clings to the surface feeling the blowing power.
It’s invisible effect is stronger than the blow of a love ripped apart beyond your own doing.
The knotted butterflies promising color and a true connection soured.
Within they still felt real and you had the opportunity to communicate with the mad woman scientist who injected you with their tantalizing fever.
You took her home because she wasn’t feeling well, and then she revealed herself as a liar to you.
Everything was immediately falsified.
Your insides ache and the knots of butterflies turn to onyx stones.
Windshaping your body is the only way to cut your stone body and heart now.
The lights are turned off and you stand experiencing the sounds around you.
You walk still nearer to the edge where the rocks give way.
Your hair flows behind your head in red, though you only feel the pull at your scalp.
You body expands outward from the stone encasing into the flowing night.
You grow to encompass the depth of the waters, the air above your head into the airstream clouds that funnel wind as through a tunnel singing, and finally you sink into the soil, embedded in the ground.
You are collapsing now into yourself, and you’ve grown to be more than will fill your vessel again, arriving back into yourself lonely and incomplete.
Your eyelids float upwards like ice melting on a flat surface, and as you awaken this morning your grief rings your eyes out in salty droplets coursing downwards.
A butterfly lands on your shoulder and you smash it to bits before looking at your colored wing dusted hands.
You failed her test because you don’t exceed her desire.
