Can you smell it.
The static in the air.
Clinging to all it can.
As her strength fades too fast.
But then Flying always..
Never lasted long enough.
Sliding past obstructions like they were excuses.
Only stopping to look at the roses when someone else points out their beauty.
Yes, they are just flowers.
Yet they know rejection more than any person.
For they will only get chosen once.
But until then they must watch millions of faces go by in silence.
Then as they are put to their final use.
Some may get placed away for safe keeping.
Placed between rows and columns on either side.
Windows that can be made  into anything.
The Pressure is immense.
One can only hope to retain form with as little decay as possible.
Transforming into the only page without words.
Ask the ink if they know the scent to which they will  lie down for all eternity.
Only there is no answer that would comfort those unwilling to sacrifice.
Give up what matters most.
Because standing here means it was already done.
So what else is there to give.
But pages depicting what could not be found.
The line to insanity and enlightenment has never been such a blur.
Hopefully this trail provides the later.
Although if it is not to be.
Its doubtful you would remember even asking the question.