Written by Jacob Ibrag
She carried herself over to the end of the hallway,
Her legs were numb and shaky. Instability seemed to
follow her these days. In a failed attempt to hold on to the
wall, She falls and embraces the position she was placed in.
Nothing made sense anymore. Lying in her own tears, One
memory seemed to be keeping her from falling apart. It was
the man in white, But it was his words that were drenched in
shadow. ‘Staying constant, that’s impossible. Every king loses
his crown sooner or later, What makes any of us any different?
Take the change and mold it into something, different.’ Traffic
of thought came to a halt. Her eyes opened, her teeth clenched,
Her heart skipped a few beats. Heavy tears running down her
skin, she wipes them off. A smirk appears, the air tastes sour
with a hint of mint. Walks, walks, walks to the room she
hates, but admires. Coming to the edge of reason,
she starts to laugh. Pulls her hair back. Puts
on her ballet slippers. Restart.
Painting By Stefan Kuhn