soliloquy

Blank pages

Blank pages. 

They terrify me and yet excite me a great deal. 

A blank page can mean you can fill it with streaks of paint or words, breath life into it's empty soul and make it mean something other then a blank page. 

But a blank page can also mean nothing. 

nothing.

A sense of loneliness, a sense of nothing and just a single white nothing. It scares me so much droplets of tears fall down on the sheet, and I imprint my bitter liquid on the sheet of paper who deserved at least a coat of paint or tragic, beautiful words. 

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It seemed like everyone around here was full,

A chaotic swirl of colours or words, 

Filling in their blank pages, 

Full of redemption and hope and experience, 

Except for her, 

She was hopeful though, 

Hopeful that one day her blank page

Could be filled

Full of meaning and words and colours

And still she waits

In a treehouse perched up a canopy of trees,

Slowly dying,

Slowly melting, 

Slowly fading away,

And soon, she'll fall down across the floor and-

die. 

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It hurts. 

It hurts to think, to breathe, to speak, to move. 

And when I do, it pierces through my heart like a bolt, prevoking my body in endless shudders and jerky movements. 

And I'm scared. 

I'm really, really scared. 

It hurts when I close my eyes. 

But it also hurts still leaving them open. 

I can't move

My lips are stiff

My eyes are cold

My mind is numb

My body is weightless. 

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her eyes softly closes, and she drops the match on the floor. 

the pillows, the canvases, the ribbons and the draped sheets catch fire. 

slowly and slowly she lifts her arms in the air.

two broken wings made of wood hung loosely on her shoulders. 

and slowly and slowly. 

she jumps and-

dies. 

(flies)