FEELING OF FALLING

it’s unwarranted — but unsurprising coming from someone half-wrapped in daddy issues and insufficiencies masqueraded as arrogance ( she would know ).  she’s not the gwen that belongs to this world.  not the one he knows.  not the one that died within reach of her lover.  no.  she’s the villain in her own narrative,  in the flickers of thoughts that linger and never releases no matter how hard she fights back.  not when she’s awake.  not when she’s sleep.  this boy whose bones she could crush underneath her fingers if she exerts too much force is no one to her.  he’s not the harry she knew,  she knows.  circumstances and decisions — she sees the splitter between the two so visible it’s nearly tangible.  like looking onto a disfigured version of familiar faces.  the slight illusions cast by fun-house mirrors that leaves one feeling topsy-turvy.  it does not matter how much she travels in-between dimensions. 

 ‘  bite me,  osborn.  ’