Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Singularity




"Gifted."

The world alighted on my head from the clouds as I looked for rain. It marks my existence with its weight. Paraded around as a kite on a string, I'm yanked with sharp tugs, bobbing along. I pass through blinding clouds, the world turned white. My torn wings are ripped through gnarled trees, so high above it is a wonder I could see them; the black and white and in between specks swarming in accusation, grappling for the string.

How dare you.

You can pretend otherwise, but you roll in the dust too. A pebble can't outrun a mudslide, they shouted to me, but the words are muffled by the distance.

Traitor, the warbling voices chant. You left us.