their wings of mist come to exist in subtle swings across shiny lids
across over licked lips they
drown in the crown of curls atop a head
of a boy whose heart didn't sputter, it never sped
they nick at his jaw
until it is red until it is raw
but it never bled
so they proclaim the human to be dead
until he reaches the state of sheets weaving
into an ocean's untamed tongue
that sweeps him into a short oblivion cold, cold, cold
didn't you know everyone
who was born will also die
but he's still fighting- fists a sizzle
melting into the sky burning into the sea his soul is a flutter
body a shutter
mended shy of a death most divine
but then they are coaxing the soul back
into it's sticky tea stained skin so bruised and battered
subconscious shattered
pale as the moon
they swam around hoping it'd get better soon
and so he did.
