Who decides where the edge of the world lies?
I teeter on a newly found edge, feather numb,
the knife-sharp bite encourages the plummet
that I was never really intending to take
until the edge began to crumble…
Forced to fly with faded, luminescent wings
the arc of my trajectory a bit too steep,
my breath becoming flames that burn the veils
as atrophied wings catch a wistful sigh from the earth.
I will hide my dreams within the pattern woven
by the beat of a dusty heart that frantically applauds
as I try to climb the stairs to the sun.
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