1.
a Picasso night,
laden with dust that settles on
my skin like
snow.
I'm sitting in the center of the room
with gooseflesh skin and
broken bones still shifting,
prodding my little flame with
singed fingertips
and all I can see is my childlike
reflection
staring hungrily back at me,
thirsting for an inkling of something more.

2.
the room is awash with yellow light from
the oncoming dawn.
I claw at the floor with
scorched nails,
digging my way out.
through the genesis, my little flame swells with
hope as my reflection shifts
into someone I begin to recognize.

3.
high noon. the roof is gone.
the sun beats upon me like a
drum
and i take the blows with my head
bowed in paralyzing
shame.
something is perpetually falling from
my eyes, but i've already refused
to cry.
the flame is shrunken and deteriorated to
a dull pinprick
of luminance.
i no longer wish to escape this
room;
i only long to understand the face in
the wall
that i know
is me.

i smash the mirrors.

4.
this sunset is all I could have
ever dreamed of.
I am an hourglass tunrned
inside-out and upside-down,
my flame flickering and beginning
to grow again.
I reach out,
grab the hands that have been
outstretched towards me
for what seems like
an eternity.
They will take me home.

Look at the colors, they say.
I know.

I know.

5.
a Picasso night
laden with dust that settles on
my skin like
snow.
I sprout wings and fly away,
stars exploding in my wake.