Prisms

Her footprints sneak away. under the guise of rain and wind. a series of fading candles and creaking swings. on the outskirts of a cracking dream.

she scribbles faces with the fading ink. Imagining people where only ghosts remain. Her stories crippled by the weight of her want. everything is numbers. all the angles are sharp. she scours her empty attic for the chains. but even found. she can't undo the locks.

everything is small. too small to see. everything is big. too big to see. she moves closer. and notices the center. she moves away and finds the edges. the hours are glass. the minutes are rocks.

Her skin is liquid. Everything gets in. All her colors coming undone. Her bones are lead.

her puzzles and all their arrogant pieces. attempting to assemble what has never been whole.

it's the light that lets the darkness in.