The Smoked Filled Room.

I sat on the cold ground of the smoke filled room.

I can’t see your face but I can hear your whispers. For they scar deep beyond my dreams. To the bone, your broken promises cut my porcelain skin.

Your voice lingers heavier than the smoke. I can feel your breath crisp the air I struggle to take in. The echoes of your stumbles fall into the darkness. Where you hide, it is no lie; no-one needs to see the broken soul that is trapped beneath.

The quiet whispers begin to rise; they begin to cut through the thick smoke in front of my eyes. I am within your reach, I hear you speak. Vibrations of your touch shake the ground beneath my feet.

The ground starts to crumble. Daggered cracks separate us.

The darkness is my saviour, yet it is the fear that feeds the devil inside of you.

I hear you scream for me to save you. The first glimpse of innocence I have seen in your eyes. I can see the lonely child inside. Waiting to return home, waiting for an open door.

My outstretched hand almost meets yours but the ground beneath our feet collapses and I find myself holding on to the edge of infinity when you stand above my lingering soul. The child inside has realised; it came too late.

As her whispers erupt through the darkness there comes a light. Blinding my fresh eyes, I cling with weathered hands. Holding on for what I thought was my life, yet I find, I am holding on for your hope in my lies.

The only thing that I have, was the strength I hold on for I fear an eternity in the pits of the underworld. I pray to live for the chance to return the grace I was given, for my wings had failed me.

For I had failed myself, my fingers embrace the infinite sorrow and let go. Seconds pass like a century of pain. The smoke begins to rise, for your hands meet mine, my body between two worlds.

For my grace was yours and I could not see; the wings between the shadows of demons that roam free.

The innocence in your eyes returned, your voice peaked.

The child inside of you was, in fact, me.

 

 

 

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