Chains.
On her neck, hands, fingers.
Boots.
On her feet, laced up, combat.
Jacket.
On her shoulders, motorcycle.
All black and silver.
All frayed.
All somewhat broken.
Scavenged.
Lipgloss,
A light layer of velvet.
Hair,
Red.
Nails,
Chipped roses.
All red.
Or somewhat close
To the color of
Blood.
Vibrant,
They all say about her.
Tough,
They all tell her.
Mean,
They all whisper behind her.
Cold,
They all shudder around her.
She seemed,
Unapproachable,
dark,
Silver,
Red.
But black and red
Can be the colors of tuxedos.
But black and silver
Can be the colors that paint the night.
But she
Can be the Superman,
Who points above her,
Towards heaven,
Wanting to fly,
And yet...
Yearning for blue.
YOU ARE READING
Superman Can't Fly
PuisiA collision of sadness, pain, desire and so much more. There are lots of impossible things that we believed to be possible such as mending a broken heart, forgetting a traumatic past and reliving the most joyous moments. Sometimes, it seems like the...
