feathers

i could fly up in the air,
holding onto your hand
but oh great one
how i must let go

drifting, things are out of place
chaotic and unstable
and nothing that i wanted it to be

my throat burns,
as i gasp for air
and i grasp blindly for something solid

my old bones, they shake
my youthful vitality has faded
i dont know where im going
and it's safer this way

i can not stop
and im falling
im falling and calling for the great winged beast
of myth
to fall back in time
and never give me wings

useless things
uncontrollable
glorious
and in my hands
they are wax
as i fly too close to the sun

and i find myself
falling
freer than i have ever known
with wicked chains of fear trailing
me

and as i hit the glossy surface
upon a bed of down
i hear the cries echoing from all around
and its glorious as i stand
as i brush off the sand
and rise like ashes
soaring, attempting, again and again

as the unknown decorates my soul,
i am free and beautiful
and the world is left, drowning in feathers
shed like tears
that i can not cry
it is left
far far behind.

~brittany
12-30-10
((..written as a whim and bidden by my dreams and suggested my mike saxer to actually put into creation. im not sure about it but we'll see...))

terminal

Scents harass my nose
my melting nose
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself
but still they invade

my eyes tear up
the acid corrodes my sight
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself
but still it eats through me

thorns stab my tongue
bloody and bitter
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself
but still they stab into me

sirens violate my ears
piercing through all my thoughts, my sanity
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself
but still the sound wont stop

my fingers graze the damp cloths
they use to cool me down
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself
but still the heat wont leave

it's dark here
and im all alone
lost in my drowning lungs
too weak to move
too dead to be alive
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself

but still the machine lurches
and the doors open and shut
pretty nurses tend to me
as the
scents of sterility paint me in this bed
alone,
encaged in my senses
in my darkest hour
I throw my hands up
sheilding myself, protecting myself,

the doors open
the pack of people move
and i sway with them
am pushed along with them
harassed, stabbed, damp
stuck in this terminal state.

~brittany
seems to kinda shift in the middle, im not sure if im feeling the shift but i like the words
1-11-01