Flightless Bird
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She's a flightless bird with her arms held high. The world is at her feet and the cloud's are at her fingertips. It's that quiet time between sunset and complete darkness, where the world is cloaked in a light gray hue. The cars below drive slow and sound, an eerie quiet.
It's windy and cold, and her dress whips around her thighs. The fabric snaps against bare skin, leaving red marks. The pain lets her know she's alive, she's breathing. A deep breath puffs out her flat breastbone, and she smells it. The telltale smell of rain, the dampness in the air. Beside her a pigeon takes flight, it's wings flapping and fighting the current.
She smiles, her pink lips spread wide and she steps off the ledge, determined to fly. But unlike the pigeon, her body soars down and on her gravestone they'll write;
Here lies a flightless bird in a free fall world.
It's windy and cold, and her dress whips around her thighs. The fabric snaps against bare skin, leaving red marks. The pain lets her know she's alive, she's breathing. A deep breath puffs out her flat breastbone, and she smells it. The telltale smell of rain, the dampness in the air. Beside her a pigeon takes flight, it's wings flapping and fighting the current.
She smiles, her pink lips spread wide and she steps off the ledge, determined to fly. But unlike the pigeon, her body soars down and on her gravestone they'll write;
Here lies a flightless bird in a free fall world.