She builds the world, one word at a time
she whispers the trees tall and green
she sings birds catching wind across a blatant blue sky
The expressions drape around her
folding into the warmth of her own psyche
it is a rose and not a thorn
a forest not a thicket
She pulls the cloak tight to seal up the wounds
weaving screams to lullabies
a brocade of sunny days when the sky is putrid
Oh and how nice it is
bundled in the sympathy of niceties
a meticulous effort
and the fabric grows worn
threads expose the delicate web
thorns and thickets she wander through
biting at heels and ankles
They catch her, all those little words
they beat down on her storming
fighting, fighting, she bends, breaks
to her knees
Phrases warped shine harsh light
and the world quakes
spiraling and fragmenting, splinters that dig deep
a red sky sneers
What a pity
All those expressions spoken with care
Brittle in the end
