Smoke and Mirrors

Divinity reaches down from the sky, or maybe right up through the ground, there really isn’t any way to tell, it happens so fast, the rug gets pulled out from under me, my soul is wearing thin and my heart is quaking from everything unknown. The sun isn’t really rising and setting, we’re spinning around in an unstable atmosphere and that scares the fuck out of me. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be and if I just keep running I’ll only end up tired or right back where I started. I’m scared to stop because I’ll surely die, end up in the sky or underground, and become part of everything unknown, it’s hard to tell. I just want to go home.

But that was washed away a long time ago,

To a place where words don’t work.

Days when I was too scared, so my mind erased the parts that burnt. Days when I was in so much pain my mind locked it up and threw the key in the fire. I hope someone is waiting for me. I’m empty, I can’t see, so how can I possibly be, anything else, other than a child, because so much time has been lost, beaten out of me, stolen by thieves and it has left a ripple in the fabric that is burning.

Children need looking after.

But the smoke is too thick to see if there is anyone looking after me.

Flames are blowing back into my face, sweat is blurring my eyes, my skin is singed. Burning bridges that I wish I could drive my car off of but I have forgotten that my wings are melted and I haven’t any surrender left, like a mirror reflecting a mirror until all that remains is rubble in the shape of life long after the bombs stopped falling and the ash has blown away. Shame creeps in and I try to build a new bridge.

Rupture and repair.

Release and restore.

Unsure who or where I will be when I finally wake up. I’d ask my friends for advice but I don’t have any. They have formed a secret society that is absent of me except they aren’t keeping secrets, they are hoarding denial and planning where to aim the machete for best possibility of beheading. Smoke and mirrors, disguising the sinners. I don’t want to be a part of their prison anyway. I tried to climb the fence they built to keep me out and now I’ve been cut again, bleeding again, and they just sit back and whisper while I pour salt on my wounds. I’m sleep deprived, what else do they want from me? I forgot the chorus to my theme song, and any sense of right and wrong, another cursed charade to prolong the undeniable desire to belong.

We could cut hay,

To pass the day.

But it’s dry and I am a fire made of mistaken memories. A wall no one can get through, with wicked weedy tendrils growing from my foundation. Eager to snuff anyone that gets close enough. I have no control over what they fear and you will get hurt if you come near. I’m a well-armed woman wielding no weapons, ready to leap, swan dive, and for just a moment, I am alive, free, walking in waist deep water that gets deeper each day as I weep for humanity and hang on to the fumes that are left

With my





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