Some days my lips feel cold and my ears
Hear none of what I say
Only a faint buzz of wings rustling in the wind.
Some days my fingertips feel blue,
Even though the blood is warm and
My knees chatter in the brisk wind
Even inside my head.
Some days I face the flames of the spiteful dragon in my soul and
His fire doesn't singe me,
A frozen statue.
I am a spirit, a single tarnished coin in the dragon's hoard,
A point of light drifting
In a body too big; I rattle around in my skull,
My skull that is too hard
I bruise and scrape.
Little red and purple-black marks, definitely injured
But a pale finger pressed to them elicits
No response.
Nothing.
I am devoid of feeling, my heart beating but
No pulse,
No life.
The dragon stands outside his den but
Makes no move to attack.
My bones are stuck in flesh
Too heavy, waxy and cold
I want to fly!
My joints stretch through in hard angles,
Translucent skin showing blue veins;
River-tracks of spent blood,
Cold blood,
Carried back to a fluttering heart.
Chilled.
Cold-blooded, a giant lizard seeking it's warmth from other sources.
A shudder twitches between ribs, lungs
Too tight, gasping beneath the
Skeletal, crooked spine running like dragon's spikes
Down past my hips,
Bumps that will maybe become wings
Some day,
Wings that will lift me up
Some day,
Lifting that will become floating
Some day,
And then broken branches will drop from
Cold trees
Fire boiling in my gut,
Waxy skin melting from trapped bones,
A skull too hard,
Flesh too heavy,
Lungs too tight,
Crunch, break, destroy
And my little soul of light will
Float away and be
Free!
If only I had a dragon's courage.