Sometimes, I escape into a fake place of mind, where for some reason, I associate flying with freedom. but that;s for the birds because if they could speak, I think they’d scream, “Please Father! Let me rest on this earth!” “ Let me rip off my wings and rest like the people do!” and they’d try to let themselves plummet to the ground, but God would catch them with a breath of wind from his lungs, and their wings would catch onto it and they’d be frozen, floating and immaculate, gliding forever. Yet, i sit wishing that I could glide off this earth and take her with me so her feet would never have to touch this wretched dirt anymore.
sometimes, I escape into a fake place in my mind, where, for any reason, I associate flying with freedom. but when solace finds me and looks me in the face to give me my wings, I will scream and cry and gouge out my eyes. because I will not surrender my soul to a place that I am questioning and gives me starry mirror as an answer. to a place where birds are forever doomed to a life of being tired. Just let me escape into that fake place, where for every reason, flying is freedom and where the birds can rest, or please just let me drown.