Fight of the Flight 

My skin glows with a silky soft layer of grandiosity, it’s so fucking beautiful, I’m almost positive it should be named one of the wonders of the world. Yeah, I mean that. 
Mold me into a statue. Carve me into a mountain that’s close enough to touch the sky. I’m certain I should be worshipped in more ways than one. 

Stand back. There’s nothing here to see. 

Cover your eyes. It’s an ugliness you can’t unsee. I am hardened, concrete darkness roughens every edge. Black me out permanent, and spare yourself the hideous way I fall. Shelter yourself from the crumbling of me that never was anything more than a tiny hill, where even my landing is a failure. 

The mirror makes me want to go blind. 

I love the way the wind feels on my face when I fly, and I can go like this for days. I don’t need food to survive, I’m not even hungry. I am filled with euphoria. Shoot it in my veins. I have a superpower of insomnia. I don’t have time to dream. I’m buying the world today, I deserve it. Fill my mouth with kisses of living on the edge. I’m unstoppable. Look at the sky.. that’s me… flying, flying, flying… fuck, it’s gorgeous! 

I am leaving. Or you can leave. Go away. Leave the lights out. The sun tries to poison me with that stupid light. I can sleep for days. Just let me. Conversation feels like a knife that won’t stop threatening me and I don’t give a shit about a week’s worth of mail outside. My hair tries to be tangled like my mind, but there’s no comparison. There’s some shiny scissors in the bathroom drawer trying to give me a haircut and that idea grows on me. I never did like hearing someone say “good morning” or “good day”. It upsets me. I’m not hungry. Stop talking… It hurts. 

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry © 2016 

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