Snow Cloud Skies

“Come on,” You whisper; soft, sweet voice echoing in my mind. A hummingbird is slamming its fragile self against my golden ribs. Its wings are fluttering as it spins, and fails, again and again. Unlike yours, my breaths are ragged and uneven, escaping my lungs. With teeth as sharp as spoons I dig fresh trails into chapped lips, matching drops of clear liquid dripping from my eyes.

I feel you tug me backwards, arms holding me against a solid wall of flesh and bone. I cry out, begging you not to take me out there, not to force me away from my spinning rainbows and hot air balloons. I am safer here, inside, with my circling sun in a sky of never ending white clouds.

You sigh, your breath dancing over my skin; a painters brush over a pallet. Pulling me down, you press my back against the bitter cold of the wooden door- the gateway to hell. Once more I cry out, this time it is the noise of a helpless animal, only a whimper of fear. “I’m sorry, love,” you say, stroking my hair, calloused hands running soft trails down my neck. When I pry open my eyes, a pair of wintry blue eyes are staring back. They are sad and soft, like the snow cloud skies; the skies I envy and the eyes I love.