Like a crumpled piece of scratch paper
or a terrible first draft
she falls to the floor faster
than I, the feather, beside her.
Tears spring to her eyes;
brown pools fill, spilling over
onto her cheeks. The end. It’s bitter
but necessary, like the crumpling of the paper;
the creases and folds add weight
to the ink.
“Stop,” I yell, “pull the brakes,
prevent this collision from
has made up her mind
have no fight left
and so we depart
not friends, but sworn enemies
our weapons of choice
the pain we inflicted on each other.
Source of Image: SpunkyKangaroo, Youtube