Mama, won't you learn?

  I've awoken another night where my voice is stifled by the air in the room. I turned my back to a darker side of the room. And I create another. In my dreams, I see a figure made from breaths of the shifting clouds and winds of the storming rain. I imagine.

  If he does come to me, Mama won't you cry?

  The days hurt my head and night gives me silence to hear the ringing in my ear that deafens the raspy screams I bear on sunup.

  comes to me in the form of comfort, list your desires and he will shift to them. He is fluid as I am like the water that flows in my favorite sea.

  No child runs to another life with tears except those that never turns their head. They are the only one that lives to see their figure alive. Those that have turned their heads are rested with the fate of Orpheus and their figure of life wisps away. They die fallen to the ground with tears scattered on the grass and knees in despair. The hound dog that chases does not eat away your dream unless it sees it through your eye. Darling child, won't you cry and run ahead?

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  Another day of throbbing pain in your temple, and you will not learn to ride your bike, you'll keep running like the lost child you are. But you will be chased and found if you are not forgotten.

  Shifting pains don't keep you sane. Shifting ways to better does not keep you stable. Those that feel cursed are left with the blistering pain of knowing they are to fear an eternal damnation of the torment left by the careless winds. It blows and knows not when to shut up. You will hear everyone's mumbles with that wretched wind. It flows from the North. The fairy must have built their Elsa's there.

  ?M?, SáRé

  Have you forgotten the story of the girl with wings the knightly prized?