My iridescent wings fall to the ground as I hear a tapping on the wall.

A promise was broken.

Violent, repetitive, ringing relentlessly through my ears. I am growing weaker by the sheer sound of it and I've lost my ability to fly away. I start shrinking, shriveling, minimizing to a small bundled form. Without warning, plates cascade around me forming a cold metal cocoon.

This is what I never thought I'd feel, what I never thought I'd see. This is hopelessness, insecurity, low self esteem, this is my own bitter purgatory imprisoning my limbs and encaging the full extent of my body.

It's like a snow storm in the middle of summer, a lone wolf lost in unknown woods. It's like a being trapped in a cave with no light or sound, and when you scream, you're lucky if you hear so much as an echo.

This is demetamorphisis.

The ultimate loss of hope in the universe. I see no cracks of light shining through, I can no longer smell of the sweet scent of grass, or taste the warmth of the sun. I can't grow or learn, I can only just "be." I am stuck and for now there is no way out because no one actually knows that this is happening.

This is just another way of coping.

We are the children of earth, air, fire and water.
Of temperate pasts and violent storms,


We are the children of here and now
Standing against the tide as one,
With frosted halos and interlocked hearts.

We are the cosmic dust across the sky
And the morning dew upon the leaves.
We are the soil beneath your feet,
Of seeds, flowers, and ancient trees.

We are the wonders under the same mother,
Spawned from the depths of lust and madness,
Flaws stitched with good intentions,
Made with love, radiating light,
And torn by the shackles of our selflessness.

We are the quiet and lonely wolves that howl
Into the blackened out sky waiting for the sun
To kiss the sparkling moon goodbye.

We are the warrior children of the tribe,
of indigo, rainbow, and light
Emanating peace & joy until we are
Once again reunited with the sky.