There are days when things are good.
Where you rise
With a sunset lighting up your bones.
You feel big
And your heart is something you love.
And you smile
While the rain trashes against your face like tears that aren't yours.

There are days where-
Over-
There are-

There are days where claws are hooked in the back of my skull.
They’re stuck.
Scraping one ever-existing line in white cracked bone
over and over and over.

How do we-
How do we live our lives like this?
How do we live in empty pools flooded with worry we would drown?

There were never any stories
where the dragon to be slain
was my own **** mind.

We ran.
And there where puddles that
splashed mud in drops of gold on skin
slithering up and into
our veins.

Up ahead there was a minefield
riddled with flowers.
Blue ones.

And we fell.
We fell so many times
our knees and palms
clad in gold
our minds unable to make
a different mistake.

We cried, yes.
In desperation.
On our knees.
While blue petals
rid from their hearts and stems
floated gently down
and got caught in our hair.
They smelled sweet.

For a while
we lived.
And then.
We died
for a while.
All of us.
We died
when it reached our hearts,
clenched them in
tight unrelenting fists
until the air escaped us
together
with our blood.

We stopped.
Silence.
Nothing.

And yet.

The Gold
wasn't strong enough.
It faltered.
After a while.
We got up
brushing of the mud
untangling the blue.
We inspected the gold on our bodies.
In between
some of us
made more
mines.

And there were puddles.
And up ahead
there was a minefield.

We ran.

I'd like to be human
like a soft, gentle, kaleidoscopic light, shining every kind of colour
that bleeds acceptance.