like a ripple, but violent
she shatters through her dress like it was made too tight for her, but the measurements are just as right as they were a millennium ago
she pleads for me to see her drowning in her own existence, and asks me why she was taken for granted at the start of time
--and even I do not know where mine has gone, so I cannot answer--
silence is no better than a mouth that spews false hope, but at least it gives her nothing to hold on to
she wallows in her mother cloud, curled in fetal position; it's not enough to free her from making her face the one she was forced to love the most from this fallout of voids that can talk back when you call out
i hear her from time to time when she begins the countdown
five
four
three
two
one
she stumbles up the crystal steps that ring against the touch of her toes
she enters a temple that she does not call home
she flings her energy outward and all you can see is the light against the tall obsidian columns that have surpassed their need to support the ceiling any longer--weathered from her tantrums, corroded by her sobs of wrath
...i think this is how she means to do it.
