The girl in my walking dream
She walks past me. Coldness. Frigid is her skin. Ravished from a heated fever. The eyes crisp blue purples stare into a blanketed bleakness. The darkness engulfs her as she makes her parade of dolls to the edge of the sky.
I sit here scowling in questions of how I can beg her to see me. Yet I realize all too well my words fall on deafness and open to blindness. I dare myself to seek her, ask her what may I help her with? How can I make her understand I am here for her?
I gain a snare. A growl. I am an irritation to her. I see no way for her to understand my being here is the way of the water days.
She sits on the edge of a two story balcony, rocking so forward she almost is falling only to jerk back to knock her head to concrete. She isn't phased by the mass of bruises forming around her. The parade of dolls have all fallen save one. She picks it up and laughs.
Holding closed are her feelings. Dare you, I do for you to steal away the plastic form. Yet I warn you of the impending terror you will be grazed by. You will be mentally incapable of bouncing back from this attack. Her attachment to doll and your determination to remove it, will cause your depth of craziness to surface. You will seek and find that her padded walls are very comforting.
I don't dare to ask to open your eyes. I don't dare you to hold out your hopes, dreams and emotions to me. Yet don't destroy hers. Don't cling where freedom can be found.
I hold onto this moment where I can entertain those icy blue barriers. I can let those warm droplets of clarity tumble down. I see how her sorrow echoes within. Yet I am so innocent compared to those knives she holds inside. My experiences are shallow and mundane compare to her grandness. This is why she sits on the edge of the balcony, tempting herself with the wind and freedom.
My world seems so misunderstood and yet she gets me to the fullest. I cry those tiny streams down my face. So empty I have become. Careful I am. Closing my eyes as the night transform to daylight.
Opening once more the day sings bird songs. The sway of legs over the balcony. The coolness of the morning air. I turn to see her, to talk to her, only to realize she was just a dream.
I get up from the railing, holding a plastic doll I haven't held in decades. Only to look into the window panes. Pale skin laced with blue veins and purple eyes. Shocked I close my eyes. Open once more.
No doll. No purple eyes. Just me freezing from the cold rain and wind blowing. My eyes a soft slate. I move back into the house. Leaning on the wall, just breathing. Asking myself, was she real? Was I her?
The truth echoes inside me. You take a guess. Believe it. Speak it.
I sit here scowling in questions of how I can beg her to see me. Yet I realize all too well my words fall on deafness and open to blindness. I dare myself to seek her, ask her what may I help her with? How can I make her understand I am here for her?
I gain a snare. A growl. I am an irritation to her. I see no way for her to understand my being here is the way of the water days.
She sits on the edge of a two story balcony, rocking so forward she almost is falling only to jerk back to knock her head to concrete. She isn't phased by the mass of bruises forming around her. The parade of dolls have all fallen save one. She picks it up and laughs.
Holding closed are her feelings. Dare you, I do for you to steal away the plastic form. Yet I warn you of the impending terror you will be grazed by. You will be mentally incapable of bouncing back from this attack. Her attachment to doll and your determination to remove it, will cause your depth of craziness to surface. You will seek and find that her padded walls are very comforting.
I don't dare to ask to open your eyes. I don't dare you to hold out your hopes, dreams and emotions to me. Yet don't destroy hers. Don't cling where freedom can be found.
I hold onto this moment where I can entertain those icy blue barriers. I can let those warm droplets of clarity tumble down. I see how her sorrow echoes within. Yet I am so innocent compared to those knives she holds inside. My experiences are shallow and mundane compare to her grandness. This is why she sits on the edge of the balcony, tempting herself with the wind and freedom.
My world seems so misunderstood and yet she gets me to the fullest. I cry those tiny streams down my face. So empty I have become. Careful I am. Closing my eyes as the night transform to daylight.
Opening once more the day sings bird songs. The sway of legs over the balcony. The coolness of the morning air. I turn to see her, to talk to her, only to realize she was just a dream.
I get up from the railing, holding a plastic doll I haven't held in decades. Only to look into the window panes. Pale skin laced with blue veins and purple eyes. Shocked I close my eyes. Open once more.
No doll. No purple eyes. Just me freezing from the cold rain and wind blowing. My eyes a soft slate. I move back into the house. Leaning on the wall, just breathing. Asking myself, was she real? Was I her?
The truth echoes inside me. You take a guess. Believe it. Speak it.
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