terlinna

The possession locked away In a box with no lock Yet sealed tight It pulses Beats Not enough strength in the world to open it No keyhole in sight The sun rose and light snuck into Cracks thin as hair Sunlight streams as small The possession skips one of its beats And then resumes its steady pulse Day passes and night falls Continues to pulse Day resumes and comes through the cracks again Day passes and night falls Day rises, night comes Day rises, night comes Day rises, night comes For many more days Night comes and the possession pulses extra hard Spider web cracks creep along the thin cracks They braid and twist together Day rises With

Whispering winds are whistling The songs they’re singing are new They bounce off the rain Hum in the wind Glide amongst the eagles Shine with the stars The lovely beats are lifting Beats lifting my heart My heart feels heavy Does it have to lift? The lifting straps are thin Thin and frail My salty tears make my heart heavier I can only see fog. Don’t make me step into it. The light refracts a possible future, But faces of others are missing. Hooks dig into my heart Dragging me away Not even floods will stop it My mind steps into an empty room Blackness all around Blink three time and look over my shoulder Smil

The walls that are closing in on me Are where I can be the most free. A place that seems to be tumbling becomes the foundation of a new beginning. The ruins turn to rubble Rubble down to ash And then the ash becomes fire Phoenix born from the flame flies Flies see the world with many different eyes Eyes that are as harsh as the bristles on a brush Brush past the world until it glides Glides with the air until it is soaring Soaring, sorely, surly not missed by those harsh eyes I look down at the page of words Words that came from the tumbling Tumbling, turning Over a new leaf That floats With lots of ice cream Scream to the top of

Alarm clock buzzes at 6 Feet out the door by 6:40 As always, eating breakfast in the car A quick goodbye, a slamming door, and then sitting on the bus Talking on the bus until arriving at school Sitting through an hour of chapel Have to get to the lockers for books Chemistry Chinese 2 Talk, study, 30 minutes gone by English 10 Biology Walk to lunch now Slow down just enough to eat food 20 minutes for a bit more talking History Algebra 2 Advance 3 o'clock, classes over but time for tutoring 3:30 Independent Chinese Study 5:30 back on bus, close off with headphones and listen to music Picked up from the bus, 15 more minutes

I normally don’t do this. Do what? This. What do you mean by “this”? And why do you keep saying “I”? I am saying “I” because I am me. Who is “me”? The author. Why aren’t you writing in third person then? I do not want to. It’s me talking, not someone else. Who am I then? You’re the narrator, of course. The narrator is not the author? Nope. I am the author; you are not. Okay… So what is “this” then? It’s me talking to you. You know I don’t do that. I only know because you told me. Well, yeah. You actually don’t have a