The poison wasn't strong enough
or the air was too fresh
but i should have died on sunday.
and now
i take the gossamer threads of my life
made of the laughing sea
and the reflection of scarlet lady bug wings
in the eyes of those who still believe in magic
and i wrap them
carefully
slowly
it hurts
i burn
it aches
gently
i wrap them about me
weaving
weaving
in a cocoon
a shell
so tightly woven
that only the light can seep through.
i will wait here.
for the pain to stop throbbing
for my heart to start beating
for my soul to start breathing
you cannot catch me
in your black, tarred depression
i will merely
slip out of my ballet shoes
let you devour them
and return to my cocoon
until
i have returned to myself.
