Blanks and broken hearts

We'll Never Surrender

The sky is blue today.
With the cut and paste clouds
As still as mountains.
It feels like it's mutating.
The clouds stretch
and scramble over each other
and
the longer I stare, the harder it is to look away.

She still hears everything
around her, the girl, but her existence
seems to be
flickering
in and out.
A fluctuating line on a
never-ending piece of paper.
Even the wind stills
when compared
to the hum of activity
around her.

I'm honestly not sure
how much of it
she is aware of.
I whirl
when the lightning storm
in her head
starts again.
Paranoid, are we?

I can't shake the voices that drag up my spine.
Her eyes narrow in worry
and
she squeezes them shut a second later,
clenching her fists around the sleeves of her hoodie.

A breath of air
pushes through her lips.

She's rocking very gently now,
the tides
lashing their fury
against the inside of her mind.
A longer exhale comes
and
we're in the eye of the storm.

Away
from the vengeance that
still
seeks her.
She opens her eyes,
staring at
everything
and
nothing
all at once.

The trees cower.

The girl is oblivious to that.

Now
is the time
to focus on breathing.

Her head drops,
a snapped cord,
and her arms raise,
seemingly of their own accord.

Pinpricks of light appear
and
flowers are blooming,
feathers sprouting
as
the girl lifts her head
and
levels her stare once again.

The wings shift and roll,
a sea of emotions,
practically
living beings of their own.

They are
power
and
defiance,
Aurora Borealis
and
the black abyss
of space

She crosses
her arms at the wrists
her legs at the ankles
and
bows her head once more

Gauntlets appear
A crown settles
in the nest of oil that is her hair
This girl
so regal
so humble
will be
her destruction
a collision course
dated
for the end
of the universe

She will be
everything beautiful
everything terrifying
she will be
all
that
she
wants
to
be

But for now
she will stay
flinching
from the silence
crying
to the night
and
eternally praying
for the good fortune
she does not realise
she will have to
create
for herself

Well, I was planning for this to be a story, but it turned into this horseshit I call a poem. Ach, ignore me. Cranberry isn't feeling too great right now, and this is probably just piling onto the list of reasons as to why she never gets any reads. But that's fine.

Dedicated to the awesome clarifications because Cranberry stayed up last night binge-reading all of her super fabulous stuff as it is dark and incredible and Cranberry definitely should've been sleeping, but as she wasn't it made for a great substitute. This lack of sleep is probably why Cranberry is now referring to herself in the third person. Oh well.

Peace out you guys (guy? Does anyone actually read this anymore, or am I just talking to myself and in really really bad denial?) - CranberryJam