Fingers plucking on tiny strings made of silver..wrapped in gold..long sharp knife-like fingernails..dancing amongst the strings like spiders..tiny spiders moving in circles..producing sounds like raindrops falling into puddles.
Stone cold I lie..like a princess on her tombstone..fresh pearl skin kissed by the dew.
Footsteps amongst the soft green moss and the breeze of an early autumn wind. Would you stay?
Trumpets don’t look like trumpets to me..they sound like knives jabbing at the air.
You’re so very sad..and we were so very sad..we were time travelers and stone skippers amongst the fuzz of everything.
I’m sorry you couldn’t see it. I feel like I failed you and you still remain in a hole of darkness..with no nails strong enough to scrape yourself out or climb..instead..your nails are dull and they only push the dirt down the sides of the hole..covering and burying you. Perhaps once you’re buried..you will sprout like a seed once the rains come..and you will be born anew..a second chance..you will find hope.