In the bluish tinge of light, amongst blades and a black sea of words, I imagine a thicket, dark and stellar. Tall figures standing strong and proud surrounding me, my only witnesses. Thier leaves whispering sweet nothings in my ear, the faint zephyr kissing the sensitive places of my neck and cheek.

It is quiet here, forbidden. I spread my arms high above me, reaching for the stars, my feet firmly planted in the dirt. Throwing my head back, lips parted wide, I scream full force. My voice thick and shattering, I frighten myself and blush as though I were not alone.

The less you have to hold on to, the easier to let go

& I am without.

My arms fall limp to my sides. I can no longer fly. I weep in my own self pity, self loathing...self hurt.

From the back pocket of the denim I pull a rusty edge, it's glimmer dull. Blood is sweet, revengeful. It's color clean, my wrists inviting. Dragging the blade teasingly across the thin skin covering those canals of life attempting to find the romance of the moment.

So many flaming balls of fire up in the dark sheet of night. Like the universe's very own heating blanket still I am so cold.

I toss the blade into a nearby bush and crawl back to reality. It's just not time for me yet.