Pressing, darting fingers
A cool, cotton screen
It's thin––you might fall through
Pure, white linen, a scream
Just about to burst
Through the glass
To wait, patiently
Inside, I am fire
And smoke,
Breath forgotten,
Choked by black cloud
To tiptoe on a precipice
Clumsy in ballerina shoes
As the tips break,
Choked by darkness
And fall limply.
Curtsy.
And grin madly.