I'm Not Laughing. You're Not Laughing. Are You?

Ricepaper skin turned to wax,

things began to slip off

the instant they began to cool.

And you claimed yourself a feather,

"I JUST WANTED TO FEEL FREE!"

As you knew your metamorphosed body

was merely plucked

from the physical manifestation of fear.

Nothing but amputees with their good legs falling through trap doors,

dragging our callous bodies with sharpened talons

as we looked behind curtains

and under coffee tables

for our hearts,

as if they were 

keys we'd misplaced--

And in some ways,

they were.

The trap doors became the only doors

and we fell in and out of cellars and attics,

feeling our souls grow dusted

under our layers of cobwebs,

wondering why we hadn't yet 

turned to arachnids ourselves,

giving others reasons to feel fear,

to rationalize our own.

Shoulder blades attempting to soar,

in the most fragile of ways.

Could we take flight?

Could we

feel serenity

without stillness?

I wanted to 

fall after you

on the frivolous quest 

out of our minds.

I wanted to 

fall

after

you,

but my porcelain bones 

weren't enough, and

I had not one more feather:

they had shed

at the touch of the handle,

in honeysuckle-scented goodbyes.

I had 

not 

one

more 

feather,

as I watched 

yours

gather wind

and be lifted away.

Author's Note

unfinished