by Bronte Billings
Carve the name into her bone.
Hollowing marrow to take flight on wings.
Birds whisper the name meant to save no life
echoing on the wind. Secrets traded
of the skin, no one listens to a girl.
Twilight harrows the time for honeyed dreams
she finds no comfort in dreams.
Hating the fault that hangs on her bone
mirrors reflect, a malformed little girl
with a stone sunk soul and featherless wings.
Armor adorned, one name alone traded
for a stranger. A girl owns not one life
she has many. A life
built on the existence of other dreams.
No one notices. Expressions traded
over the lumps and bumps of skin on bone.
She loses herself, to take flight on wings.
A body is riddled sins to a girl.
Sins carved nameless in a girl.
Breathing, kissing, making a name her life,
only life, in exchange for clipping wings
to fly in pastel skies. She swallows dreams
hoping the cold will stay away. From bone
engraved, dealing in hushed figures traded
as she was diminished. Traded,
and lied, a mirror dulled a little girl.
Burned in her depths, it charred ivory bone
black. All she had was black inside her life.
Black inside her night. Black inside her dreams
Hallow now, she breaks the glass and takes wings
to fly nowhere. Her wings
falter, the whispering follow traded
voices. Birds don’t join her echoing dreams.
Halo heavy on the lies of a girl,
stone weighs a heavy head, she owes no life