Glass Girl;Woman

I press my face to the glass,

an oval cut of sky

to see what lies below.

The world is deceptive

a flat appearance laying its game-

trickery at its finest.

I press my face to the glass,

searching the dotted lights

in the night.

Scanning for life,

a notion of a living thing.

I close my eyes against its formation.

The night pierces my mind.

Open your eyes

said no one but the dark.

Look up

Said the desperate part of my soul.

The glass wants after

what I am looking for,

eyes riddled red

hungry to be free of guilt,

to be free

of me.

The stars look different up here.

The globe that holds our feet

couldn’t possibly conjure the same wonder.

Will they speak to me?

The stars?

Can they predict my ending?

My awakening?

The moment my bite of the tongue

will finally cut through to the bottom of it all.

I’m a shadow in a blackout, sumptuous and insidious.

My skin melds to the modest window,

warming its surface,

combating the coolness

that takes hold from the outside

-I cling to my whispers of a hunt.

A flutter of weakness cavorts through lashes,

gathering dampness.

Memories collect in a reel on repeat,

its film upsets itself

over and over and OVER

until I’m begging time

to let me climb into numbness.

Take me there.

Let me sink my claws into a delicious nothingness.

Eyes smear black

constellations point their handle down,

cup tipped and ready at the spill.

Is this what you’ve been searching for?

Through those eyes that discard their closing

-asks the glass, weary of my game.

Spill. Tine your soul over.

Let the burden and shame

hate and sorrow

flow in a sharp capsizing.

Maybe this is what I wanted

needed to accompany.

A night dotted with humanity

that aches and throbs in a foul breaking.

A soft dusk skylight opens itself to a woman still a girl,

barreling through the night, parting the clouds,

reaching for a resurrection,

seeking to grasp the courage she needs

to reverse a cold heart.