Seeing my way out of an abysmal reality is a grisly affair. I am healed, and then sick once more. I am tortured, then convinced the fire burning inside me, is a torch that will illuminate my path out. I spy an ominous crow, then I swear it to be King Arthur.
I do not know where the hill ends, and the mountain begins. There is no care to my step.
I am weak from lack of proper nourishment. I moon bathe because my skin has become too delicate for the sun’s rays. The night’s light taste like copper. Mother reminds me to honor the faeries, because there are things we do not know, and this is what can hurt us most. I am lost in this conversation. But just in case, I leave bread and water out by the tree. Just in case, I tell them I will talk to Jesus about them. He’ll tell me to get off my apple box, and why is that I am always so near to doing something right, yet so far.